


A Million Little Times

by multilingualism



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Contraceptive Failure, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multilingualism/pseuds/multilingualism
Summary: If people come into your life for a reason, what does it mean if that person is your former teacher who is also a werewolf?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin
Comments: 70
Kudos: 231





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta, the imcomparable, Viridiantly. I described the story to her as "Knocked Up with werewolves." I hope you enjoy; this was a blast to write!

Warm breath tickled Hermione’s face. She wiggled away.

Five more minutes, she thought. Wait a minute.

Hermione lived alone. She had neither beast nor man in her home to breathe on her. Hermione opened her eyes and nearly screamed. There was a man in her bed. Hermione scrabbled around, trying to get up.

Scratch that. There was a _her_ in _someone else’s_ bed.

“Good morning,” the man said, apparently roused from sleep by her panicked flailing. He smiled at her sweetly, resting his squared chin on his hand.

“Good morning,” Hermione said, sliding out of the strange bed. Though she was not entirely sure of how good of a morning it could be when she was waking up in the bed of someone whose name she did not even know.

“Would you like breakfast?” the man asked, sitting up now. Hermione got a better look at him. He had close-cropped brown hair and wide shoulders. Not her usual type, but she could see why she might have been initially drawn to him.

“Oh, no,” Hermione said. She was pulling on her underwear and then her jeans. She latched her bra with lightning fast speed. “I would hate to impose on you. And I have to get to work.”

Speaking of getting to work—her wand. Where was her wand? She lifted up her blouse from the ground to check underneath. Not finding it, she still slid the blouse over her head and pulled it down over her torso.

“Are you looking for this?” the man asked. Hermione spun around to the man dangling her wand from his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes,” she said. “May I have it back?” It itched her to ask that question so politely when all she wanted was her wand back. That was _her_ wand, it was like one of her limbs.

Please don’t break it, she thought.

“What is it?” he asked, examining it more closely. “Some kind of sex toy?” The man laughed at his own joke. Hermione hated him even more now.

“It is if you want splinters,” she said walking over and practically yanking it from the man’s hands.

Prize in hand, Hermione walked from the bedroom. Based on the footsteps she heard behind her, the man was coming with her. “Can I have your number at least?”

Hermione turned around to look at the man, preparing her most sympathetic look. “I don’t think it’s going to work out between us. I think this was more of a one time thing.”

“Why!? I thought the sex was good?”

Hermione thought about the previous evening. She shrugged. “I don’t even know your name,” she said, trying to get to the door. But the man stood to block her.

“Chad!” he said, incredulously. “I told you last night at the bar.”

“Alright, Chad,” Hermione said, trying to go the other way around him. “If we had such a connection last night, what is my name?”

Hermione watched with growing amusement as Chad tried to remember her rather unusual name. “He—Helene? Heather?”

“Goodbye, Chad,” Hermione said, finally getting around him and his wide, hairless chest.

She walked outside his apartment into the warm morning air. It was promising to be a lovely summer. She looked up and down the road. This area was not familiar to Hermione but considering she had slept with a Muggle, that meant they likely did not get too far from the bar last night.

But, it did not really matter where she was _currently_ because she was a witch and she had her wand and it could take her anywhere. She could just Apparate into work. Now all she had to do was find a quiet alleyway to do it.

“Hermione?” she heard from behind her.

Ugh, what did Chad want now? She wished it was legal for her to Obliviate one-night stands.

And then she remembered that Chad had definitely not remembered her name. She turned around slowly. Although she had managed to fix her bedhead a little bit already, she had not yet brushed her teeth, removed her makeup, or put on deodorant, not to mention that her top was a little rumpled.

“Hello?” she said. The man standing before Hermione was not immediately familiar to her. She followed his outstretched arm and saw that it was held by a young boy.

“It is you. Thank goodness. That would have been embarrassing if it hadn’t been.” The man laughed. “Oh, you don’t recognize me, do you?” Hermione shook her head. “It’s me, Remus. Professor Lupin?”

Hermione looked a little bit harder. This man looked a lot healthier than she remembered Professor Lupin looking. He also had a full-beard. But she supposed under that facial hair, she could almost make out the man she remembered.

“Wow! So nice to see you again. It’s been years, hasn’t it?”

The little boy—Teddy, Hermione remembered—tugged on Lupin’s arm. “Not now, dear. Daddy is talking.”

“So, do you live around here?” Lupin asked. “Did you just move in? I’ve never seen you around before.”

“No,” Hermione said, a little too quickly. “I was just visiting… a friend.”

Hermione did not know how much Lupin had inferred from that comment, but that, plus her appearance, told him a lot. Still, he was not going to say anything in front of Teddy.

“Ah, well, it was nice to see you again, Hermione.”

“Nice to see you too, Professor Lupin.”

“Remus,” he corrected.

“Right,” she said, before walking away.

What difference did it make anyway? It was not like she was going to see him again.

After Hermione arrived at work, the first place she went was the bathroom where she could freshen up in peace. Normally she had more resources in her purse to do more—like extra, clean blouses—but she had not taken her purse with the bar, so today she could really only recolor her current top. Then she checked the time and practically sprinted to her first meeting for the day.

The meeting had not yet begun but the only seat open was beside her least favorite coworker, Percy Weasley. She tried to be as covert as possible but still she could not hide from Percy.

“Someone didn’t get home last night,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t know that,” Hermione said.

“Yes, I do. You’re wearing the same blouse as yesterday. Just a different color.”

The Head of Magical Wildlife and Fishery was now standing up. Hermione put on her best “I’m paying attention” face and took out her pen and notebook. She was the only one on the minister’s staff who used pen and paper, or even took notes, for that matter.

“Maybe you should spend less time paying attention to me and more attention to yourself.”

It was then that the speaker now began speaking. Hermione had watched her face to see when she was about to start so Percy could not get a word in edgewise without looking rude. Hermione was proud of herself sometimes.

After work was drinks with Ginny at their favorite Muggle pub. When Hermione arrived, Ginny was already there—Hermione’s usual order beside her. They hugged.

“Hello, how are you today?” Ginny asked.

“Oh, just wonderful,” she responded. Ginny quirked an eyebrow. “Well, for starters I could really use a shower.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything…” Hermione frowned. “I’m kidding! You smell great! So, what’s up? Why do you need a shower?”

Hermione looked around before whispering, “I may have slept with someone last night.”

“Finally! I’ve been telling you to get out more. So… tell me more.”

“It’s not that exciting of a story really. I met him at a bar. But I’m never going to see him again if that’s what you’re wondering about.”

“Well, why not? Wasn’t he hot?”

“He was…”

“I ask again—why not?” Ginny asked.

“He wasn’t my cup of tea. Honestly I don’t even know why I did it. I’m not usually the type.”

“And what type is that?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hermione took a sip of her drink. Maybe she shouldn’t say what she was thinking. Ginny had been dating around lately and Hermione was getting dangerously close to insulting her best friend.

She turned back to look at Ginny, who was grinning like a demon at her. “What?” Hermione asked.

“Do you really not know why?”

“Do I really not know why what?”

“Why you did that,” Ginny responded, “The dirty deed.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“And you do?”

“I do.”

“Alright. Enlighten me then.”

“You’re upset that my brother is getting married soon.”

Hermione nearly spit out her drink. “No, that’s preposterous. We haven’t been together in years! I’ve been there, done that. I got my ticket punched. I’m over it.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“That’s funny because I know I’m not wrong.”

“You are so infuriating. You know that, right?”

“But that’s why you love me.”

Hermione sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I thought, as the more mature and emotionally-intelligent member of the relationship,” Ginny snorted, “I would be in a serious relationship before he was.”

“Well, I’m not surprised at all.”

“You’re not?”

“No. You know how men are. They rely on women for not only their physical but also emotional labor. You’re not a serious relationship because you can cook, clean, and remember your family member’s birthdays all on your own.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“You know I am.”

“How’s your love life?” Hermione asked, hoping to move the conversation away from herself. “I need some good news.” Ginny looked suddenly sheepish. “What?”

“I’m seeing someone new.”

“That’s great! What are they like?”

“She’s great. She’s perfect.”

“I’m glad to hear it! Is she going to be your plus-one to the wedding?”

“That’s the thing…”

“What? Do you not want her to meet your family?”

“My family isn’t the problem…”

“So what is?”

“Harry is the problem.”

“Harry? But why? He’s married too.”

“Because the person I’m seeing is Cho.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks again to my beta, [Viridiantly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridiantly).

That weekend Hermione decided she could treat herself to a book—one book only—so she went to her favorite independent bookstore in London. She walked inside, heard the tinkling of the bell, and waved to the cashier, who was enjoying her own book. The shop was fairly empty for a Saturday afternoon, but maybe people were outside enjoying the unusually nice day, rather than being cooped up inside looking at books. Hermione could not relate; books were always priority number one for her.

Hermione headed to the new releases at the center of the store, but stopped when she noticed a familiar man in the children’s section. Sure enough, when Hermione’s eyes followed his arm, she could see a child attached to it.

Shit, Hermione thought. She certainly was looking more put together today but she also was not feeling confident enough to start conversation with Lupin, especially considering how awkward their earlier encounter had been.

Thinking on her feet, Hermione briskly walked past the new releases and far into the back of the shop, where Lupin surely would not see her. When she reached the farthest corner, she looked around and breathed a sigh of relief. Lupin had not followed her and hopefully he had not seen her.

Since Hermione was going to be in this part of the store for awhile, she decided to browse the shelves. After reading a couple of titles, Hermione realized she had picked the wrong section of the store to hide in for an indeterminate amount of time. She looked up to see the section title hanging from the ceiling. Sure enough, she was in military history.

Still, Hermione did her best to look interested, but all she could think about why Lupin was in _her_ favorite bookstore. It was by no means a small shop, but of all of the shops in London, why this one?

Her eyes travelled from Ancient Wars to Medieval to Pre-Industrial Revolution battles to finally the World Wars—a majority of the section—but she still did not dare to go back to the front of the shop to see if Lupin had gone.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to look at the man beside her. Of course Lupin had found her.

“Oh, Professor Lupin, I didn’t see you there.”

“No, of course you didn’t,” he said, smiling at her broadly, which made his eyes crinkle _just so_. “Military history?”

Hermione tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, trying not to think about his smile. “Are you surprised? It’s my favorite.”

“How could I forget?” he said, still smiling. Now that Hermione could get a better look at him, she noticed that he was wearing a button-up shirt and long pants despite the hot weather. She wondered if he did not even dare roll up his sleeves for fear of showing the scars on his arms. But she also could not help but notice how he filled out the shirt.

“Where’s Teddy?” she asked, looking around. Had he lost his child?

“They’re doing a reading in the children’s section right now. So, I decided to take a look around while I waited.”

“There weren’t many people here last time I checked. Are there even any children to read to?”

“He might be getting a private reading. That child is so spoiled; I’m sure he’s loving the attention.” The words might have been construed as mean, but the gentle way Lupin was saying them, she knew they came from a place of love. “He’s been working really hard on not shapeshifting in public, so he deserves it.”

“Anyway how are you? You look good,” Lupin said, changing the subject.

“You mean better than the last time I saw you? That’s not very hard.”

“No, I mean you just look good in general.”

“Oh.” Hermione did not know how to take that. Then again, her brain might also have been shutting down. “You look good too.”

“Yeah, steady employment and not fighting a war will do that to you. So, what about you? What have you been up to?”

“I work for the minister.”

“How exciting.” The way he said it, Hermione could not tell if he was joking or not.

“Yeah.” Hermione laughed. “Not really. It’s a lot of paperwork. You?”

“I’ve been teaching at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Defense again?”

“Yes, Minerva was kind enough to offer me the job. She had a hunch that parents wouldn’t take as much umbrage with my condition after I fought for their and their children’s lives and she was right, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermione echoed.

“Are you—” Lupin began.

But before he could finish asking the question, a scream rent the air. Lupin spun around. “That’s probably Teddy shape-shifting again.” He sighed. “I should have never left him alone. Well, it was nice catching up with you, Hermione.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, in a soft voice. “Same to you.” But Lupin was already gone.

Later, at work, Hermione learned that the Obliviators had been dispatched and the Muggle patrons and employees had had their memories wiped. Hermione, of course, had long since gone by the time they had arrived, since she did not want to spend any more time around Lupin than she had to.

It was not that she found him disagreeable. She just did not want him asking any further questions and discovering just how boring and empty her life was. Maybe Ginny had been right; maybe her one, one-night stand had meant that she was looking for something else—something she was missing.

“You told me Harry would be fine with me bringing Cho,” Ginny said when she showed up at Hermione’s apartment on the wedding day. They were going to go to arrive together since Hermione had booked their hotel room. Ginny told her it was because she loved having sleepovers with her friend, but Hermione knew it was _also_ because Ginny did not have a credit card.

Hermione had asked why Ginny was not going to stay with her family, whose hotel accommodations had been set up by Ron’s fiancée’s family, but she just told Hermione that she did not want to be around her family anymore than she had to. Hermione could understand that. She did not visit with her parents more than was necessary.

“Why? Is he not fine?”

Ginny did not answer immediately. She took her dress and walked into Hermione’s bedroom, leaving the door open only a crack.

Maybe Hermione also was not fine with this. She had not considered that Cho would also be staying with them in their little hotel room. It was not like she expected her friend and Cho to _do anything_ while Hermione was also in there, but they had not booked a very large room. But maybe she could also get them an upgrade.

“No, he’s very much _not_ fine and he’s being a total baby about it,” Ginny said through the door.

“Typical Harry,” Hermione said, happy to commiserate with her friend. She did not know how many times she had to comfort her friend during the many fights she had had with Harry when they were still together.

“I know! And get this, he said, ‘Oh, is Hermione coming with Lavender? Is that how this works now?’ I mean, can you believe him?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Not to mention the fact that Lavender is happily dating Parvati. Not that Harry would know that,” Ginny said, stepping out from Hermione’s room. 

“No, he would not.” 

“Can you zip me up?” Ginny asked, fumbling for the zipper. Hermione stepped closer to her friend. “Why aren’t you getting dressed yet?”

“I don’t want to mess up my dress during apparition. I’ll get changed in our hotel room.”

“I suppose that’s the difference between you and me. You are going to wear your dress again, meanwhile I am going to burn this one the first chance I get.”

Ginny’s bridesmaid dress was yellow, which Hermione thought was a pretty color on her friend, but Ginny had complained to Hermione non-stop since her soon-to-be sister-in-law had picked it out.

“Ready?” Hermione asked, offering her arm. That was another benefit of going together—Ginny had been to the venue once before to scout it out with Ron’s fiancée, Gemma. So, she did not even have to bother with directions. Hermione was terrible with directions.

One moment they were there and in the next—they were gone, disappearing with a pop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Viridiantly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridiantly) for enabling me to double post

They arrived at the hotel, which was also the venue, after they stopped at Cho’s place to pick her up. Hermione made an extra effort to be nice to Cho since Ginny was so into her, but she was pretty sure Cho was still nursing a grudge after Hermione hexed Marietta Edgecombe for snitching on Dumbledore’s Army.

Even though she had never seen them interact until this point, they seemed like a good match. She could hear them laughing and joking in the lobby while Hermione checked in for them all.

“Single room for Lupin,” she heard from beside her. Hermione did not dare turn.

“Excellent,” his receptionist said. “Are you here for the wedding as well?”

“I am,” he said.

“Wonderful! It seems like it’s going to be a lot of fun.”

“Here you are, Ms. Granger.” Hermione nearly jumped when her own receptionist spoke to her. “Your room is room 304. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, taking the offered room keys. Should she say something to Lupin? It would be the polite thing to do. Then again, he was still talking to the receptionist, so maybe she shouldn’t interrupt him.

But it was not like she could avoid him forever. He, apparently, was also attending this wedding. 

“Was that _Professor Lupin_?” Cho asked as they walked over to the elevator.

“I forgot to tell you; Ron invited him. I can’t imagine why though. He was always closer to Harry than to my brother.”

Hermione watched the elevator doors close in front of her, pleased that she had avoided any awkward conversation with him in the lobby. That is, until she watched as the elevator doors reopened and she saw Lupin once more, suitcase in hand.

“Is this one full?” he asked. “I can take the next one.”

“Not at all!” Ginny said. “Come on in.”

Hermione could have strangled her friend in that moment, but instead she smiled at Lupin. He greeted them all in turn, but, if she was not mistaken, he seemed to linger on her a little bit longer than everyone else. But maybe she was just imagining things.

“What floor?” Hermione asked, as she was closest to the buttons.

“Third,” Lupin said.

Oh, great, now he was staying on the same floor as them as well.

They reached the third floor in silence. Hermione followed the signs in the hallway to find room 304 and was disappointed when Lupin went the same way as them.

Please don’t be in the room next door. Please don’t be in the room next door. Please don’t be in the room next door.

Hermione’s prayers were answered when Lupin did not go to the room next to theirs. Instead, he was in the room opposite to them. Hermione realized then that she had to be more specific in her prayers.

She walked into the bathroom and removed her dress from the garment bag and stepped into it before placing the sleeves over her shoulders. But unlike Ginny, she used her wand to zip it up. Ron had made fun of her too many times for asking for help to zip up her dresses when she was, as he had so loved to remind her, “a witch, for Merlin’s sake.”

And to think, she was now at his wedding to someone else.

On second thought, maybe she shouldn’t think about that too much.

Hermione did her makeup simply: an oxblood lip to match her burgundy dress, mascara, eyeliner, and a little bit of dark brown eyeshadow on her lids. Makeup was not her forte, so this was probably as good as it was going to get.

When she left the bathroom, Cho was doing her own makeup in a mirror against the wall and Ginny was lying on the bed, having a laughing fit about something.

“Ooh,” Ginny said, hopping up onto her knees. “Don’t you look hot!”

“Stop,” Hermione said, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. She knew that Ginny was mostly joking, but it was still nice to hear.

“Red is a great color on you,” Cho offered. Maybe Cho was not still as mad as Hermione thought?

“Thanks,” Hermione said. “Guess I was lucky enough to be sorted into Gryffindor then.”

“Not me!” Ginny said, with a sigh. “Red looks terrible on me. As does yellow. I would’ve looked better in Ravenclaw blue.” Cho and Ginny exchanged a flirtatious look.

“Or Slytherin,” Hermione said, with a snort.

“Take that back,” Ginny said, threatening her with a pillow.

“Hey, watch the face.” Hermione cast a Tempus charm. “There’s not enough time for me to do it again. We have to go. Especially you, Miss Bridesmaid.”

“Fine,” Ginny said, putting down the pillow. “Well, who’s ready to watch my brother make the biggest mistake of his life?”

“Come on, Ginny, Gemma doesn’t seem _that bad_ ,” Hermione said. “I know you’re just saying that for my sake.”

“Oh, no! You and Ron were also a terrible match.” Hermione frowned. “I just think he has terrible taste in women. No offense.”

“Offense taken,” Hermione said, walking to the door. She looked through the peephole to make sure Lupin was not leaving at the same time they were. Knowing her luck, however, he would be opening his door at the same time as them.

“What are you doing?” Ginny asked in a sing-song voice.

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” she said, straightening up.

“I know you, Hermione Jean.” Ginny looked through the peephole then. “Wait, a second? Is this because of Professor Lupin?”

“Why? Is he out there?” Hermione asked. She must have sounded nervous because Ginny and Cho shared a look.

“What happened between you and Lupin?” Ginny asked, crossing her arms.

“Nothing!” Hermione said, sounding none-too-convincing, even to her own ears.

“I don’t know,” Ginny said, looking at Cho. “There was definitely something weird between you two in the elevator.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, I definitely got a weird vibe too,” Cho said.

“Did you sleep with him?” Ginny asked.

“What!? Ew. No. I don’t do that.” Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Fine, I don’t do that _often_. But if you must know, I did see Lupin outside… after that incident.”

“No!” Ginny said.

“I know! And he was with his son too. Professor Lupin saw me do the walk of shame.”

“It’s only the walk of shame, if you’re ashamed,” Ginny said, cupping Hermione’s face.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Gin,” Hermione said. She was being flippant but there was truth to what Ginny said.

“Now, come on! Who’s ready to see Gemma do the walk of I’m-going-to-regret-this-in-four-months?”

Luckily for Hermione, Lupin was not there when they left. Nor was she seated next to him during the ceremony. It was a good thing too because it really was a beautiful ceremony and Hermione found herself getting choked up at weddings. How embarrassing would that be when he already knew how sad her life was?

She also did not see Lupin during dinner or during toasts or when they cut the cake. But she did have to suffer sitting next to Great Aunt Tessy who kept throwing Hermione incriminating looks. She might not remember much but apparently she did remember that Hermione and Ron had dated.

Then it was time for the first dance and Hermione watched, with some small amount of secondhand embarrassment, Ron fumble the steps. Still, it seemed like he had bothered to learn the dance a little in the first place, which was not something he had ever offered to do for her. Maybe Ginny should not have been so pessimistic about the future of the relationship.

She watched as other couples joined them on the dance floor while she hung out at her table. Even Charlie came over to ask Great Aunt Tessy to dance, leaving Hermione even more alone.

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” Lupin said, sidling up beside her.

“Did you come over because you feel bad for me?” Hermione asked. Admittedly, she might have had two or three drinks already.

“No, why would I do that?”

Hermione gave her a sidelong glance, which was a mistake, because seeing Lupin in a nice suit threw her for a loop and made her forget what she was going to say. Merlin, had he always been this handsome?

“Because,” she said, gesturing around. Someone might think she was trying to be evocative but it mostly took up time while she thought of what to say. “I’m the sad ex-girlfriend at the wedding.”

“Oh,” Lupin said. “Well, truth be told I had mostly forgotten about that. I only came over here because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“And maybe because I wanted to tell you how nice you look.”

She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks but she did not know if it was from the alcohol or the compliment. Before she could even help herself, her eyes darted to his lips. Was she mistaken or was he looking at her lips as well?

“Is that your go-to line now?” Hermione joked.

Lupin laughed. “It is, if it works.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at that. Her pulse quickened as well.

“Do you—” Hermione began.

“Want to talk somewhere else?” he offered.

“Yes. Your hotel room?”

“Of course. No one will even notice we’re missing.”

Hermione was not sure if it was the alcohol or her hormones being all over the place from the wedding or the fact that she had done this once before, but Hermione found herself practically sprinting up the stairs to Lupin’s room. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks again to my beta, Viridiantly 🥰

Lupin fumbled with his key card but he finally got them inside. But once they were in, Lupin pushed against the door and began tracing kisses down her neck. Hermione could feel herself melting against his touch, that spot alone was enough to get her going. But then he increased the tension further by lifting Hermione's leg around him and delving his fingers under her dress to cup her ass. Meanwhile his left hand was holding her breast, occasionally squeezing it through the fabric of her dress.

Hermione moaned, which encouraged him further. He unzipped the back of her dress just a touch which allowed him to unclasp her bra and fondle her breasts unencumbered. Then he began pinching her nipple and Hermione nearly collapsed in his arms.

Just when she thought she was about to hit her peak, he stepped away. She whimpered pathetically but he led her to closer to the bed, where he began undressing her in earnest.

Hermione enthusiastically joined in, untying his tie and unbuttoning his buttons, but undressing him was slower than undressing herself and it was not long until she was standing before him in just her heels and underwear. Then he, ever so slightly, pushed her onto the bed, where he began unbuckling her heels and removing them, slowly. It was agony waiting for him, but it was delicious all the same.

He removed the heels and set them gently down, after which Hermione roughly pulled him against the bed and began kissing him on the mouth. His mouth did not stick around for long, however, and soon he was gently rolling her nipples between his teeth.

Hermione moaned again, but much louder than before. Lupin used the hand that was not squeezing her nipple to put a hand on her mouth, which Hermione nipped at playfully. Lupin, however, took this as an invitation to bite her nipple which caused her to moan even louder.

“Someone’s mouthy,” he whispered in her ear. The cool air against her now wet breasts sent a shiver down on her spine. 

“Sorry,” Hermione said, not meaning it.

“No, I like it.”

Lupin trailed kisses from the base of her neck, down her chest, and over her stomach until he reached her pelvis where he hovered. Hermione squirmed. She could feel his hot breath on her sex. She looked down at him, pleading, and he gave her a wolfish grin before kissing her at the apex of her thighs.

Hermione cried out and squirmed once more before he began laving her folds with his tongue. Hermione clutched at the sheets like her life depended on it but he did not relent, instead inserting a finger, shortly followed by a second. He pumped them in and out while continuing his ministrations.

She could hear herself panting and moaning like an animal but she did not care. She was so close, she just wanted to get there. But maybe she should have thought harder about what she wished for because at all once her body tensed and relaxed and she was coming, convulsing around Lupin’s fingers.

She caught her breath before sitting up. “Too many clothes,” she admonished, before finishing what she had started.

“Hermione,” he panted in her ear, as she tried to pull his shirt off his shoulders. She could smell the scent of her sex on him. “I don’t have protection.”

“It’s alright,” Hermione said. “I’m on the potion. Now help me get you naked.”

Finally the last shred of fabric that existed between them were his boxers which Hermione slid over his fine ass with no small amount of glee. The head of his penis was already leaking pre-cum. She looked at it in all of its glory before sliding her lips around it. She slid to the base where her nose was tickled by his pubes.

Lupin moaned—a beautiful sound—and placed a hand on her head which encouraged Hermione to slow her pace. She did not know when she last had a dick in her mouth and she did not know when she next would, so she was going to savor it. 

“Hermione,” she heard Lupin struggle to get out after some time. “We have to stop.”

Hermione, reluctantly, removed her mouth from his cock. She slid up beside him to kiss him more, but Lupin had other ideas. He was kissing her neck again. She felt herself being turned onto her stomach but she did not care so long as he kept kissing and biting and sucking her neck.

She was on all fours when she felt him penetrate her. His mouth was still on her neck when he entered and he moaned, low and guttural. Slowly, he continued sliding in until he was fully-sheathed, at which point he began his slow, steady rhythm.

“Lupin,” she moaned. He bit her neck harder. That was definitely going to need to be glamoured tomorrow but for now all she could think about was the glorious friction between them.

Hermione was beginning to enjoy the rhythm and his fingers on her nipple when he began to pick up the pace. He cried out and Hermione cried out with him as they neared their peak together.

Then she could feel him shudder as she convulsed around him and could feel his hot, sticky release inside of her.

They lay like that for some time, breathing heavy basking in the glow of what they had just done. 

She could feel his side of the bed dip and was pretty sure he said something about getting her a towel, but Hermione could feel herself succumbing to the sweet abyss of sleep.

Hermione awoke confused, until she remembered that she was staying at a hotel for Ron’s wedding. And then she promptly remembered what she had done the night before.

She looked around the room. There was no one to be seen or heard. Was Lupin in the bathroom? She strained to hear the sound of running water. Was he getting her coffee?

She sat up. She saw her pile of clothes on the floor but not Lupin’s. That made sense considering if he was out and about that he would need to be dressed.

She got up and started putting her clothes on, which was less than ideal since they were not very comfortable, but as she looked around, she realized that there was no sign of the suitcase he had come in with.

Hermione was looking for her wand when she heard a loud pounding on the door. She stood up, her dress still unzipped and walked barefoot to the peephole. She saw Ginny and Cho outside.

“Open up, Hermione. We know you’re in there.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. That was right. They were supposed to have had brunch together that morning.

Hermione poked her head out the door. “One second, I have to find my wand.”

“Oh my God,” Ginny said. “So it’s true? You did sleep with Professor Lupin.”

“Shh,” Hermione said. “Not in the hallway.”

“Fine, if you don’t want us in the hallway, we’ll have to go inside. Unless,” Ginny lowered her voice, “he’s in there naked.”

“No, he’s not in here.”

“Well, where did he go?”

“Just come in, okay,” Hermione said, opening the door wider. “I don’t know where he went.”

Ginny and Cho stepped inside, looking at the room with wonder, as if their room across the hall was not more-or-less exactly like it. 

“Merlin, Hermione, your neck.”

“I know! But the sooner we find my wand, the sooner I can glamour it.”

“Found it!” Cho said, coming up from the other side of the bed.

“Okay, let’s go,” Hermione said.

“Wait? Shouldn’t you leave a note?” Ginny asked.

“No, I think he’s _gone_ -gone.” She hoped he had checked out because she sure was not going to do that for him.

“Oh, Hermione. I’m sorry.” Hermione did not realize how sad her situation must be until she saw the look on Ginny’s face. She was not sure she had ever seen her friend look like that, even during her worst fights with Ron.

“No, it’s fine,” Hermione lied. “Just let me take a shower and I’ll be ready for brunch.” She put up two thumbs to show just how ready she was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta, Viridiantly, for the help 💖

What Ginny had failed to mention was that Harry would be joining them for brunch. They had apparently resolved their differences during the reception and Ginny had invited him along. And while Hermione had no problem with this—at least, in principle—she did not know if she could look in the eyes of Teddy’s godfather after what she had just done.

Harry was already sitting down when they arrived—late, thanks to Hermione who had to spend extra time glamouring her love bites—and waved them over. He gave them all hugs, including Cho, which Hermione thought was pretty magnanimous for Harry Potter, but maybe Ginny was kidding when she said they patched everything between them.

A waiter came over and took their orders. Hermione, feeling more than a little hungover—physically and emotionally—ordered a large espresso drink and waffles. She had briefly considered a Bloody Mary—hair of the dog, and all—but thought better of it.

Once the waiter had gone, conversation could begin in earnest. To her surprise, however, Harry turned his attention to Hermione first. “I am disappointed that I did not see you at all yesterday.”

_Play it cool_ , Hermione thought. _There is no way he knows what you did_.

“You must have been too busy with your best man duties because I was definitely there the whole time,” Hermione said, definitely succeeding in “playing it cool.”

“No, I mean, I did not see you even after the happy couple left for their honeymoon,” he replied.

Why was he asking her this? Was he trying to catch her in a lie? What did he know?

“Oh, well, I wasn’t feeling well and I had to turn in early. I should not have had so much to drink.” That last part was not a lie, to be sure.

Harry nodded. “You never were good at holding your liquor.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione said, pretending to be offended. She knew in her heart that that was the truth. Harry just shrugged and took a sip of his water, a playful expression darting across his face.

“Where was the mother-to-be yesterday?” Hermione asked. “I’m so sad I missed her.” That was only a half-truth. Hermione had met Harry’s wife on a couple of occasions and she thought Elena was… okay?

“Elena’s on mandatory bedrest,” Harry explained. “And I’m sure she’s a hundred times more bummed out than you were. She’s going bored out of her mind at home all day. She would have had a hell of a time at the wedding, even without being able to drink. She’s chomping at the bit to talk to someone besides me and her mother.”

“Well, there were certainly some interesting conversations happening yesterday,” Ginny said.

Hermione shot her friend a look. Honestly, if Ginny and Cho had not found her in Lupin’s room, she would probably be content to never tell anyone else, ever. And she was certain Lupin felt the same way, based on his actions that morning.

Harry looked like he was about to ask what Ginny was talking about, but then appeared to think better of it. Hermione wished she could somehow communicate that it was infinitely better in this situation for him not to know.

“That is terrible,” Hermione said, trying to bring the conversation back to Harry’s wife. “I can’t imagine having to endure that. But it will be worth it in the end.”

“I don’t know. My son might be a Slytherin. And then who knows.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew he was joking—at least mostly—but he was not the one currently carrying their son or the one who would have to spend hours in labor, pushing his grapefruit-sized head out of his body. Hermione was sure Elena did not give two shits about which house their son ended up in.

Harry must have sensed a lecture from Hermione because he turned his attention to Ginny and Cho. “How is this year’s Quidditch season shaping up?”

Hermione took this as an invitation to drift off and—unfortunately—dwell on what had transpired between her and Lupin. She was fairly certain that they both that was only meant to be a one-time thing between them, but it still stung that he had just left her the next morning.

Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Hermione definitely felt ashamed. A small part of her wondered if he only slept with her because he thought she would be an easy target. But that did not seem like the man she remembered. Then again, the man she remembered probably wouldn’t have slept with a former student without even going on a date first.

She would just have to accept that the sex hadn’t meant anything to him, so it didn’t need to mean anything to her. Hermione might never be able to go to that bookshop ever again, but it would be worth it to avoid seeing Lupin. She could get through this; she was Hermione Granger.

“Hello? Hermione?” she heard Harry say.

“Huh?” she said. “Oh, sorry. What did you ask?”

“I asked if there was anything new in your life?” he asked.

“I’ll say,” Ginny said. That earned her more eye daggers from Hermione.

“Not much,” she said. “I mostly just work these days. You know me, boring old Hermione.”

“That’s too bad,” Harry said.

Hermione hated that her friend felt bad for her, so she added, “Oh, no, work is good—great actually!”

Work, in fact, was not good. Her racing thoughts were preventing her from getting a full night’s rest and she had a huge deadline coming up, but her ability to focus had apparently just left her. She found herself staring at the clock even more often than before and not just during the boring meetings.

She was also a little annoyed at herself for being so broken up about the whole Lupin thing. A part of her—probably the foolish part—kept expecting him to send her an owl explaining why they couldn’t be together, or anything, really. But it was hopeless to expect an owl, when he had not even left her a note about why he had left so abruptly.

Then she had a terrible thought. What if he had remarried? Is that why he was ignoring her? Had she slept with a married man? Her stomach churned at the idea.

The guilt was mounting steadily and she wondered if she ought to use her government employee privileges to see if he was married.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he was now married to a Muggle, which might not appear in their records, but, then again, it would be hard for him and Teddy to conceal the magical parts of themselves from this would-be spouse, so their name would be on the list of Muggles who were “in the know.”

“Granger!” she heard a voice say. “Someone asked you a question.”

Hermione looked down the table toward the only person who was looking at her expectantly—Percy Weasley. Of course. He was the only person who would ask her a question during a meeting when she was so obviously not paying attention.

“How’s that report coming along?”

Hermione stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “I should have it in by close-of-business on Friday.”

“Excellent,” Percy said through a shit-eating grin. “I always know that I can count on you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Viridiantly for being an excellent beta 🥰

The dog days of summer had arrived and Hermione was pleased that the hotter days, strangely enough, brought a newfound sense of purpose into her life. Hermione was going to get her life together. She was going to stop being so sorry for herself and make an effort to craft her life into one that she wanted to live. She just had to work at it a little harder.

Crookshanks, however, was not convinced and judged her every time she went on a spree to clean their apartment or dusted off her Russian textbook for the seventh time.

“My life will be perfect and then you will be eating your words!” she said to him one day while lifting her little dumbbells. Crookshanks blinked at her slowly before lifting his leg to lick his butt. “Ugh, no one asked you anyway.”

Hermione’s phone rang which was either her parents—not likely though since it was not Sunday, telemarketers—very likely, or maybe even Ginny, who insisted on paying for a phone line, despite only using it to talk to Hermione.

“Hello?” Hermione said when she picked up. She still had one of the dumbbells in her and the other between her knees. She held the phone between her head and shoulder and placed both of the dumbells on the ground before she had an accident during the call and broke a toe.

“Hermione!” Ginny said.

“Yes?” Hermione did not know what she had done or had happened to warrant this level of excitement from her friend but she was suspicious.

“The Hogwarts Gala is this weekend.” 

“Yes, it’s always this time of year. What is your point?” Initially they were going to hold the celebrations in May, to celebrate the day Voldemort was defeated, but that day became a memorial and instead they chose to honor the birthday of the boy who had defeated him, not once, but twice.

“I just wanted to know what color you were wearing. I don’t want another incident like last year.”

“Why? Who cares if we wear the same color?”

“People thought we were a couple.”

“What’s wrong with that? You don’t like me?”

“No, I’m with Cho. And besides, I know you’ve sworn off all members of the Weasley family.”

“True. Very true.” Hermione thought about it. She did not really want to buy another dress for this occasion. “Would it be a faux pas if I wore the dress I wore to your brother’s wedding? You said how much you don’t look good in red so there will be no chance we will match.”

Ginny snorted. “Okay, but you know what happened the last time you wore that dress?”

“No…”

“You got ravished by a former teacher! Are you really going to wear it to a party at our school?”

Hermione groaned. “Why would you tell me that? I forgot he was going to be there.”

“Aw, Hermione, I didn’t realize it was still a sore subject. I’m sorry.” And Hermione could hear that she was. “Does that mean you’re not going?”

Hermione’s first instinct was to say, “Of course, I told you I never wanted to see that man again!” but she kept silent, mulling it over.

She had wanted a fresh start, hadn’t she? If she was still carrying that pain around, that was not fair to herself.

“No, I’m still going,” she said at last. “I don’t know what I’ll wear. Maybe… we can go shopping together.”

“I know you’re just trying to be nice but I really appreciate it, Hermione.”

“Nonsense. What are friends for?”

For the second time that year, Ginny was at Hermione’s apartment and they were getting ready for another stupid event. Hermione knew Ginny loved them—she loved the conversation and atmosphere and the drama—but Hermione could not bring herself to be excited, especially since someone was likely to be there.

“There. Lovely,” Ginny said, finishing zipping up Hermione’s new, gold dress. It was bolder than what she normally wore, but Ginny had convinced her to buy it. She rearranged Hermione’s curls that Hermione had slung carelessly over her shoulders.

“Are we ready?” Hermione asked. She bit her lip but then released it immediately; she could not get lipstick on her teeth.

“I don’t see why not,” she said, giving a little shimmy. “Do you think the _Prophet_ will be there?” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t worry. They won’t care about you. Your life is perfectly boring. I just think Cho and I dating will make a great cover story.”

“And how does Cho feel about that?”

“She doesn’t mind. She thinks it’s funny, actually.”

“It _is_ a weird thing to be excited about.”

“It’s not my fault these people are no fun. I am there to spice up their lives.”

“Oh,” she said, crossing her arms and feigning offence. “Is that how you feel about me? I am not spicy enough for you?”

“No! Not at all. Vanilla is a spice.” 

Hermione laughed. “I guess you’re technically correct.”

“I know. I’m smarter than you give me credit for. I was smart enough to pick you as a best friend.” Ginny’s face became uncharacteristically serious. “And as your best friend, you can tell me if you’re actually not ready for this. I joke, but I respect if seeing him will make you uncomfortable.”

“No, I will be fine. I’ve thought about it too and I think I need this. For closure, you know? Besides, what kind of Gryffindor would I be if I could not face him?”

“There’s my girl.”

Cho arrived shortly after—Hermione supposed that they were, in a way, becoming friends. It was weird, considering their history, but she supposed it was not as weird as Cho’s and Ginny’s. Still, Hermione could see how happy they were together when she saw them interact when they thought she was not looking.

Hermione Apparated alone while Ginny and Cho went together—totally unnecessary, but sweet nevertheless. But standing there, watching them stand arm-in-arm, Hermione suddenly felt overcome with a bout of nausea—or was it vertigo? She swayed on her feet, but someone caught her. 

“First time Apparating?” he said.

The hair on Hermione’s neck stood straight up. She took a deep breath and turned to look at the subject of her darkest thoughts as of late. Well, at least she was getting it over with now.

“Professor Lupin, what are you doing out here?” The wards were still up around Hogwarts to keep out gatecrashers but it also meant they would have to traverse the soft ground in their high heels. It was very humbling to arrive at a party where you were a sort of celebrity with mud on your shoes.

Lupin cocked his head to the side. “It’s the summer term. Did you think I lived at the school all of the time? You’ve seen my house.”

“Thank you for helping Hermione,” Ginny said, coming up behind her. “But we can’t chat. We promised that Neville we would meet him.”

“Neville?” Hermione asked, belatedly realizing that Ginny was trying to get her out of the situation.

“Yes, Neville. You know how he hates being the center of attention. He needs us there to steal the spotlight.”

“Right. How could I forget? Bye, Professor Lupin.” Lupin did not respond, just looked between Hermione and Ginny.

Nearing the castle, when they were far enough away from him, Hermione turned to her companions. “How did I do? Did I do okay?”

Ginny looked unsure, but Cho jumped in with, “Totally smooth. I bet he could not even tell you have been pining for him this entire time.”

Hermione looked Ginny accusingly. What had she been telling Cho? Certainly not Hermione had been telling Ginny, that’s for sure. Pining for him? She had never heard something so ridiculous.

But they were inside now and people were approaching them to chat. Funnily enough, Neville was among them. He walked beside her into the Great Hall and chatted excitedly about his upcoming position as the Herbology professor. His enthusiasm was a welcome distraction.

Still her thoughts had started racing in the back of her mind, just as they had been the first week after the fact. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe she had not been as prepared as she thought and she was going to suffer for another four weeks.

There was a flurry of activity in the Great Hall—her former classmates, Ministry officials, remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, and of course, photographers and other members of the press were all gathered there. Well, at least Ginny would get what she wanted.

Ginny and Cho split off to talk to their fellow Quidditch players which left Hermione and Neville. He was still info-dumping and she could easily steer him towards the hors d’oeuvres. Hermione thought eating a little something might make her feel better. She had not eaten much that morning, her appetite suppressed by her nerves. And she wondered if her strange reaction to Apparition was a result of the fact.

She filled her tiny plate but when she reached for a shrimp, she felt her stomach roil in protest. Perhaps she ought to listen to her body and take it easy tonight. And maybe that was for the best. She had not been having good experiences with alcohol lately.

“Hermione,” she heard from over her shoulder. Ron. Despite any hard feelings that might linger between, she could never forget his voice, even if she wanted to. “They’re asking for me, you, and Harry to take a picture. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not all. Let’s get this over with.” She looked around before sheepishly offering her plate to Neville. He looked taken aback, but took the offered plate without protest.

The photographer posed them by the entrance—which Hermione could not understand because people were constantly walking past them—and told Ron and Harry to both loop their arms around her waist. They all shared uneasy glances but followed instructions. Even when they were close friends, they had not really touched like this and now they were… whatever they were.

“Excellent. Now smile like you’re happy to be here, like you just defeated Voldemort.” Hermione had to hold back a wince. None of them had been particularly happy in the moment, mostly sad for all whom they had lost. “Alright. I think we got it. Thanks.”

In the same instant, the pressure of Ron and Harry’s arms left the small of her back. Message received. They were just as uncomfortable as her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by, none other than, Viridiantly

Alone again, Hermione walked in the direction of the food table, but when she got there, Neville was nowhere to be seen. She wondered if he got roped into his own photography shoot, but that left the mystery of her plate. She was still not hungry but she would hate for the food to go to waste.

“Hermione?” she heard a quiet voice say. She stopped looking for her to plate to talk to her latest interlocutor.

“Oh,” she said when she saw Lupin standing before her, his hands in his pockets. He seemed to crumple at the single syllable she uttered. Oops. Had she said that aloud?

“Can we talk?”

“Sure,” Hermione said, crossing her arms. “Shoot.” She made a gesture like she wanted him to continue.

“Somewhere private?” he added, looking sheepish.

“No, I don’t think so. Surely, if you wanted to tell me something in private, you would have told me already.”

Lupin appeared stunned at her sudden ferocity. “I thought it would be better to tell you in person.”

Here it comes, Hermione thought. Here comes the I’m-secretly-married and you-can’t-tell-anyone.

But that was not what came at all. Instead, what did come was what little Hermione had eaten that day and it came onto Lupin’s shoes.

Hermione did not dare look at him when she reached for a handful of napkins from the table. She rubbed the sick off of her face and dropped it in a nearby bin before hurrying—in what she hoped was an unassuming manner—from the Great Hall and into a nearby restroom.

She was not sure what she was doing there—she had not felt the need to retch anymore—so she washed her hands and looked over her appearance in the mirror. Maybe she was coming down with something. She did look a little green around the gills. Hermione reached up to touch her forehead with the back of her hand. And maybe she did feel a little warm.

Then a knock came on the door, which was odd because the restroom had multiple stalls.

“Come in?” she offered, audibly confused.

“Hermione, it’s Remus.”

Of course it was, she thought.

She opened the door a crack. “I am sorry about your shoes. I’ll repay you for them.” Then she tried to shut the door in his face but he held it open, with his much stronger arms. Hermione’s little dumbbells apparently weren’t cutting it.

“Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s not what you told me that night.” Hermione could not believe she had said _that_ outloud.

“Hermione, look—I do want to talk about that but not really in the women’s toilet. And are you sure you don’t want to go see Poppy? You were kind of shaky when you arrived too.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Hermione said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She was about to tell him that she did not want his bloody help, when she remembered that multiple people had probably seen what had happened in the Great Hall and at this point probably everyone at the party knew.

“Yes, I think I will go to the Hospital Wing. Is Madam Pomfrey there?” 

“She’s always there for big events like this. There is always the opportunity for injury when you have lots of people and alcohol all in one place.”

Hermione nodded and began walking away. She made it a couple of steps when she realized that she was going the wrong way. She turned on her heel and almost ran into Lupin.

“Oh,” was all she said.

Lupin chuckled. “I was going to tell you that you were going the wrong way but you seemed so determined.”

“So, you followed me?” she asked incredulously.

“Well, I wanted to make sure you go there in one piece.”

Really? He wanted to be a gentleman _now_?

“And I thought we could talk while we walked.”

Hermione wanted to protest that she did not want to hear anything more from him but then she realized, while it may be painful, this would probably bring the closure that seemed to be evading her.

“Okay,” Hermione said. She was not going to say anything else. She could let him explain himself.

“I’m sorry I had to leave that morning. As I said, my mother-in-law—”

“I knew it! You’re married.”

“No. Where did you get that idea? Oh. Mother-in-law. No, that’s Andromeda. Uh, Nymphadora’s mother. I mean, I guess she’s not technically my mother-in-law anymore, but…”

Fuck. How could she have forgotten that even if Tonks had died, her mother was still alive? And of course she would be helping Lupin with Teddy.

“Of course,” Hermione said hurriedly. “I’m sorry for assuming otherwise.”

“Is that what you thought? That I didn’t want to write to you because I’m remarried?”

“Well, what was I supposed to assume? I had nothing else to go on.”

“I left a note!”

“What? I didn’t see a note.”

“Well, then you didn’t look very hard.”

“I did not realize this was an opportunity to comment on my lack of observational skills.”

Lupin laughed. They were nearing the entrance of the Hospital Wing. Hermione had started this trip thinking she was going to be rid of Remus Lupin forever, now they seemed to be getting on like gangbusters. Maybe this was not going to go like she thought.

“Listen, Hermione. You are a great woman.” Uh oh. Nope, she had apparently thought too soon. This was actually going exactly as she had predicted. “I just don’t think I’m ready for a committed relationship yet. Teddy is going to be a tough time right now and it wouldn’t be fair for him.”

“No. Totally,” Hermione said. “I was about to say the same thing. I’m kind of working on myself at the moment.”

“Ah, well I wish you all of the luck.” He gestured inside.

“Thanks for walking me this far,” she said with a small smile.

“No problem. See you around?”

“See you around.”

And just like that, he was gone.

She stared at the spot where he had been, her heart somehow feeling heavier than before. But maybe that was because before, there had been a small possibility that they could be something more. Now she knew for certain that was not the case. Why had she been so foolish to even hope? What indication had there been of that?

This was why she could not do casual hook-ups. Her heart apparently did not know the difference.

“How may I help you, dear?” Hermione turned around. “Ah, Miss Granger. I almost didn’t recognize you. Or is it Mrs. Weasley now?”

Hermione blushed, following the mediwitch into the Hospital Wing, remembering when she had asked Madam Pomfrey for the contraceptive potion in her eighth year. “Uh, no. Ron did just get married recently, only not to me.”

“Ah, I see. I assume that is for the best?” 

“You would assume correctly.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded, like she suspected as much. “You can sit there.” Hermione did as she bidden. Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and scrutinized Hermione. “So, what seems to be the problem?”

“I felt nauseous after Apparating here. And earlier… I, uh, vomited.”

“Uh huh,” she said. Hermione could tell she was listening intently.

“But I wonder if it’s maybe not that serious and I’m overreacting. I did not have much to eat this morning—don’t know if that’s related. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that I think I am coming down with something.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded and then waved her wand around Hermione, probably performing diagnostic tests. Hermione did not know much about medicinal magic, admittedly, so for all she knew, it was all for show.

“Hmm,” was all she said.

“Is that bad?” What was wrong with her?

“Miss Granger, when was the last time you had your period?”

“Oh. Let me see.” Hermione thought about it. She remembered buying tampons at the supermarket the other day, but she could not remember the last time she would have needed to use them. “This is awkward. I don’t remember,” she said with a laugh.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “Miss Granger, I think it’s possible you don’t remember your last period because you’re pregnant.”

“No, that can’t be possible. I am on the potion. I must have missed a period because I’m stressed at work. That’s possible right?”

“That _is_ possible. But I think it’s more possible that you weren’t taking the potion as prescribed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, were you taking it at the same time every day?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth. “Well, no, not exactly. But I was taking it the same way I had been when I was… having sexual intercourse regularly.” She was not sure why, but she felt like the clinical setting deserved clinical language. “I only had sex that one time.”

Well, _twice_ , but who was counting?

Madam Pomfrey shrugged. “I am sorry, dear. The possibility is small but not non-existent. Do you want to take a pregnancy test?”

Hermione nodded and walked to the bathroom, pregnancy test in hand, and came back with a positive result. Numb she handed it to Madam Pomfrey who disposed of it.

“I have resources if you need them.” Hermione nodded and accepted the proffered pamphlets.

“I think I’m just going to leave.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded. “Good idea.”

Hermione did not even remember walking back to the Great Hall, finding Ginny, saying goodbye, and Apparating home. She barely remembered going home, getting sick again, wrapping herself in a blanket, and falling asleep on her couch.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Viridiantly, who is always so helpful at making sure my tenses are right and my pronouns make sense

Hermione was dreaming her phone was ringing. What a boring dream, she thought. Normally her dreams were filled with monsters and murderers, but this was so banal. Maybe she was not dreaming at all.

That realization jolted Hermione awake. Popping one eye open, Hermione let consciousness overtake her.

Yes, that was definitely her actual telephone.

Groggily, she threw off her blanket—which earned her a protest from Crookshanks—and walked from the couch in her living room to the kitchen where the phone sat on the wall.

“Hello?” she said, stifling a yawn and wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“Hermione, dear, how are you?” Her mother’s voice said through the line. “You sound like you were sleeping. I’m sorry, did we wake you from a nap?”

Hermione was tempted to say that she had been fully asleep and not just napping but she looked at the clock on her kitchen wall and could see just how late it actually was.

“Yes, but no big deal. I was about to get up anyway.”

“Well, how are you? What’s new and exciting in your life?”

She felt her insides clench up at her mother’s question. Was she going to throw up again? “You know me. Always working.”

“Perhaps you should take a week off,” her mother offered.

“I think I will. But just not because I am tired. I think I am coming down with something.”

“Oh, dear, I hope it’s not the flu! You know flu season is coming up? Do your kind,” she meant witches and wizards, “get the flu?”

“We do, but it’s called in- _floo_ -enza.” She stretched out the second syllable so her mother would understand it. The silence on the other end of the line told Hermione that her mother had not understood it.

“Your father is busy at the moment, but he’ll definitely be on the call next week. But listen, Hermione, I know it’s just you, but you need to take care of yourself. For your own sake. I love you.”

Hermione choked up. “I will. I love you too, mum.”

Following her mother’s advice, she sent an owl to request the following week off. She was sure Percy would have something awful to say to her for missing that much work, but it would be worse to go in and try to work while also trying to sort through her problems.

There was no question in Hermione’s mind about whether to keep it. She had thought many times about having children and while Hermione had never tried to get pregnant, she had decided if she were to get pregnant accidentally, she would gladly have that baby.

Of course, that was her thinking when she had still been with Ron, so she would have had a helper throughout the whole process. Hermione had doubts about how effective of a helper Ron would have been, but she would not have been alone at least.

Well, Hermione knew she would not actually be alone—her parents and friends would all be there for her. She did not know, however, how much she could count on the sperm donor. “Father,” in this case, felt like a bit of a stretch, whoever he was. Between Lupin or the random Muggle, Chad, she did not know which option was worse.

She hardly knew Chad and she could not imagine trying to find this stranger and tell him she was having his kid. Hermione could also not imagine building a relationship with this man. They had nothing in common, for starters. But, from an ethical stand-point, she could not keep him out of the child’s life, if he wanted to be a part of it. So, she would have to suck it up and befriend him.

But, while she was already friends with Lupin, he had told her that he was not ready for a relationship. He also already had a child, who was enough of a handful as it was. How would he react to finding out that he had another?

Chad’s rejection she could handle. But Lupin’s? 

Maybe one option actually was a lot worse than the other. And knowing her luck, that probably meant it was _him_.

How early could doctors even determine paternity? Was it even worthwhile to tell either of them before that point? She would think not. From what little she knew of pregnancy, she knew that many women did not begin telling others until later in their pregnancy, in case of tragedy.

But at the point she started showing, that would be when the rest of her problems emerged. She did not want to even start thinking of how Percy would react when he found out the news. He would have a field day at her expense. Which was why he could never find out.

Hermione was feeling a little defeated thinking about the logistical nightmare that would be hiding a pregnancy and subsequently hiding a child.

Hermione sighed. Could she get married to someone— _anyone_ —so she could pretend the baby was his to the rest of the world? That did not leave her much time to find a spouse if nosy people were to do the math. Plus, she was not sure she knew many men who would be willing to drop everything to fake-marry her.

Lupin was not one of those men, as he had made abundantly clear.

Still, as wretched as Hermione felt now, she knew this feeling would not last forever. And as the days of Hermione’s self-imposed exile dragged on, she was slowly coming to grips with her new reality. For starters, she had gone out one day to buy a box of plain water biscuits which she ate immediately upon waking up in an attempt to curb any morning sickness.

She could not remember where she had heard this, but it seemed to do the trick. Hermione could finally focus on something besides her nausea and her feelings of despair. She was about to start the next chapter of her life and whatever came into her life, she would handle it— _could_ handle it—because she had to. She could worry about those problems when they came up and not try to solve them all at once.

The first, manageable task she could tackle was to address her lack of practical knowledge of human gestation and child rearing. And the best way she knew how to do that was to visit her local, Muggle library.

While her child was most certainly going to be magical—as the children of Muggleborns often were—and she would eventually require magical texts on the subject, Hermione felt that her face was still too recognizable to waltz into Flourish & Blotts to pick up “What to Magically Expect When You Are Magically Expecting.”

So, on Thursday, she woke up early, donned her sunglasses, and walked outside to enjoy a beautiful August morning. The library was not exactly close to her flat, but she was content to experience the rather rare occurrence of sun on her skin, a nice change of pace from the suffocating anxiety that had been plaguing her the past few days.

Once inside the library, she pushed her sunglasses from her nose to rest on her hair. And despite not knowing anyone at this library, she walked purposefully to the computer furthest away from prying eyes to locate the section containing pregnancy books. Luckily for her however, it was still rather early and a weekday, so it was basically just her and the librarians, whose confidentiality she trusted more than doctors’.

618 was the classification for gynecology, obstetrics, pediatrics, and geriatrics, which was exactly what she was looking for—minus the last, of course. In truth, Hermione had known 600 was technology and the sub-group, 610, was medicine and health, but she was on a mission today and did not want to risk getting distracted by any other exciting, nearby topics.

Once she was at the correct spot, she looked left and right before picking the books off the shelf in stacks of three or four and stuffing them into her nondescript tote bag before marching to the self-checkout kiosk.

She left the library and walked home, feeling triumphant about her mission accomplished and ready for the rest of her day, reading and absorbing all of the information she could. She was going to be the greatest mother of all time, even if she had to do it all on her own. She was Hermione Granger; nothing less than her best was allowed.

This was how she became acquainted with lanugo and the meconium and the plethora of services provided by the placenta to the developing fetus. Perhaps this was just a “her-thing,” but the more she read, the more she felt like she was ready to tackle anything. Knowledge was power, after all. She could do this!

After her success with the biscuits and finishing four of her books, Hermione was feeling so much better, in fact, that she wrote the Ministry that night telling that she would be cutting her sick time short. Her break had been relaxing, but she was eager to get back to her normal routine.

Percy, as predicted, had a snide comment about Hermione not being able to hack it at work, but Hermione had anticipated this and simply smiled before offering him a coffee. He was so shocked that he was stunned into accepting the drink without another word. In reality, however, she had bought the drink for herself and then remembered she should not have caffeine, so she had _generously_ donated it to him.

Pleased as Punch, Hermione could finish the rest of her work day much more productively. She was also more friendly to be around and her thoughts were sharper. Hermione wondered if she ought to listen to her mother more often. It was not as if Jean Granger had been on the Earth for this long and learned nothing.

Later that evening, as she was reading her fifth iteration of the same “what to expect”-type book—it was more like reviewing at this point—she was also considering how best to tell Ginny. Ginny would be the first person she told, of course, so it was only a matter of when and how.

Perhaps the next time Ginny invited her out to drinks, she could oh-so-subtly order a mocktail and then when she asked, Hermione could raise an eyebrow and Ginny would figure it out. It was almost _too_ easy.

And then her phone rang.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta, Viridiantly, for encouraging me (and sometimes my worst impulses)

“Hi. Hermione?” a male voice said. Her heart skipped a beat when she thought for a moment that it might be Lupin. But this man did not sound like Lupin at all.

“This is she. Sorry. Who is this?”

“It’s Neville, remember? We were classmates for eight years—or seven, if you don’t count the year you spent camping. Anyway… Ginny gave me your number, if that’s alright.”

“No! Of course! It’s like you said. We’ve been friends for so long. Of course it’s fine.” Hermione laughed awkwardly. “I would’ve asked you sooner if I had known you had a phone. Most magical folk don’t.”

“It’s a mobile phone actually.”

“Wow. Fancy. Look at you.”

“I was just calling to ask how you were. You left the party pretty early.”

“Yes. About that. I had food poisoning. Ugh. The _worst_.” She was getting better at lying as of late.

“Really? Oh, that’s terrible. I’m sorry. And you looked like you were having such a fun time too.” Neville paused, before saying with utmost sincerity, “Do you think it was the shrimp?”

“You know, you might be on to something.”

“Yes, that must’ve been it. I was unaffected and I didn’t eat any of the shrimp because I have a shellfish allergy.”

“Oh, is that so? I never knew that about you.”

Neville laughed. “Riveting conversation, I know. Sorry for rambling. The real reason I called you was to ask if you wanted to go somewhere to catch up.” Hermione opened her mouth to answer, when Neville quickly added, “Not as a date.”

Now Hermione knew why Ginny had been giving out her number. She wanted her to move on past Lupin. Well, if Neville was not going to see it as a date, then neither was she.

“I would love to. It would be nice to catch up before you start at Hogwarts and can’t spend your free time away from the castle.”

That was an extremely specific and weird thing to say. She had only said it because she had been thinking about Lupin going back to Hogwarts full-time so she could finally return to her beloved bookshop.

But all Neville said was, “You’re right. Excellent point.”

Hermione’s stomach roiled the closer the time came for her meeting with Neville. Sure, her current discomfort was most likely the result of her morning sickness, but she was, admittedly, a little nervous at meeting him. 

He had told her, in no uncertain terms, that this was a platonic outing and nothing more. But what if Ginny had told him just how lonely and pathetic was? Or worse, what if she found herself falling for Neville? She had not really ever been attracted to her former classmate, but there was always the possibility. 

And if he fell for her, how would she explain her pregnancy to him? She definitely would not tell him immediately, but if after the first couple of weeks together, it became a necessity, would he be upset with her? Would he want to date someone who was going to have a baby that wasn’t his?

Hermione realized she was probably putting the cart in front of the horse with this—nothing would likely happen between her and Neville and she should stop worrying about it.

Apparition was still giving her trouble so she took a bus to get to her destination, which had been more exciting in her head. The reality of it was a lot less pleasant. One man spent the entire ride leering at her. Hermione had all the sympathy in the world for the Muggles who were reliant on public transportation to get around.

The restaurant that Neville had picked out was rather charming. It might have been construed as a date place, except Hermione would not, because she had told herself that it was not. Before she reached the door, she looked down to smooth her sundress. She did not know how much longer she would be able to wear this dress. Then again, it would probably be too cold to wear long before she started showing.

She took a deep breath before reaching for the handle, when she heard someone shout her name. Hermione turned to the left to see Neville standing up on the patio and waving enthusiastically at her. She gave her own wave back and walked over to greet him.

To her surprise, he pulled her into a hug. Normally Hermione was not a fan of public hugging, but in this time of uncertainty in her life, she relished the opportunity to touch another human. She leaned into it and held the hug probably longer than was necessary. Neville might have thought she was acting odd, but he was the one who had started it.

Finally they ended their embrace and sat down. Almost immediately, he launched into a discussion about the most exciting aspects of his heretofore career in Herbology and his next chapter in teacher. The waiter came over and took their orders, but they barely paused their conversation to speak to him.

The sun had travelled far into the sky by the time they paid for their meal. Neville had not protested when she suggested they split it—further proof that he did not consider it a date—and they hugged once more before parting ways.

She went to bed that night in her bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow. She slept through the night and when she woke, she felt positively refreshed and ready to start her day. That was probably the best sleep she had gotten in a long time. And if the books were to be believed, the best sleep she would be getting for many years to come.

That morning Hermione was gently finger-combing through her wet curls, humming softly to herself, when her buzzer rang. She walked over to the receiver and pushed the button. Ginny was the only person who ever visited unannounced, so she had a feeling she knew who it was.

“Good morning,” Hermione said, practically singing the words. She pushed the button to open the outside door. “Door’s open.” Then Hermione unlocked the front door before going to put her kettle on the stove. She couldn’t have caffeinated tea, but Ginny certainly could.

Hermione turned when she heard the door open, but her guest was not visible. Had she just let in an invisible intruder? Her wand was still in her bedroom, but Hermione could still do some damage without it.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Ginny said, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak. “If looks could kill.”

Hermione relaxed her shoulders. “I’m sorry but I’m not the one entering her friend’s place totally invisible like a _criminal_.”

“I had to. Your block is crawling with reporters,” Ginny said, folding up the cloak.

“What?” Hermione said. “Why?” She walked to her window to peak out.

“No!” Ginny said. “Don’t look out there. You don’t want them to get a picture of you looking through the blinds.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, stopping in her tracks. “Hold on. Why are they at my place again? I thought I was too boring to be worthy of media scrutiny.”

“Apparently not,” Ginny responded. Was Hermione imagining it or was her friend grimacing at her? “I’m not mad at you for not telling me. It is a gross invasion of your privacy, but…”

Ginny produced a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and handed it to Hermione. “I know you don’t pay for a subscription so I wanted to come warn you before you found out some other way.”

Hermione took the paper and unfolded it warily. Sure enough, on the front cover, was the picture of her, Ron, and Harry, grimacing through a photo. Then there was another of her standing beside Neville and smiling. She was about to say, “So what?” to Ginny, when she read the headline.

_THE GOLDEN GIRL OF GRYFFINDOR’S GARGANTUAN GAFFE_

Then she saw a picture of her vomiting on Lupin’s shoes. She had expected as much. Still…

“I hardly think this is worthy of a headline and reporters outside my door,” Hermione said.

“Keep reading.”

_Hermione Granger (25), secretary to the Minister for Magic_ …

“I’m not his secretary!”

“Keep reading.”

... _was seen this past weekend at the Hogwarts Gala cavorting with Neville Longbottom (25), a soon-to-be professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The pair were inseparable, until, of course, Miss Granger lost her lunch and abruptly left the party under mysterious circumstances._

_Later that same week, Miss Granger was seen at a Muggle library checking out books on childcare. Further explanation of Granger’s bizarre behaviour at the bash?_

Under the fold Hermione saw a picture of herself at the library, looking ridiculous and cagey as she stuffed a stack of the pregnancy books into her tote. There she was, thinking she had been too paranoid about being seen, when, in reality, she should have been even more paranoid. 

_Miss Granger is, as indicated by the author’s use of ‘miss,’ yet unwed—though she was previously engaged to a recently-married Ronald Weasley (25)—and while she would certainly not be the first woman in history to be up the duff before marriage, the realization that it has happened to the ‘cleverest witch of her age’ is certainly a shock._

_Yesterday Miss Granger was seen on a date with Longbottom again. The pair are not a confirmed couple, but the author of this piece thinks these photographs speak for themselves._

The pictures in question were of Hermione and Neville hugging for much too long and from multiple angles. How had they even gotten them? Had someone been tailing her? It was not possible to track someone through Apparition without Ministry approval, but she also had not Apparated. And if the perpetrator was sometimes a beetle, then following her would have been even easier. Yet the author was not one she recognized. Skeeter’s pen name, perhaps?

_Could Longbottom be the mystery father in question? Are wedding bells in their future? Whatever happens, keep reading the_ Prophet _for all of the important details in this deliciously unfolding story._

Hermione held the paper in her hand, feeling her anger rise in her like a mounting flame. This was not a “delicious story,” this was her life, her business, and now everyone would know that she was pregnant.

How would she deal with this at work? Magical society was not so backwards that she would be shunned or penalized, but there were some coworkers—cough, _Percy_ —that she would prefer did not know intimate details of her life.

Then there was also the whole business with them thinking it was Neville’s. That was going to be embarrassing when she had to release a statement saying that it was definitely not his, but either a random Muggle’s or Lupin’s.

_Lupin_. She had not intended for him to find out this way, but he would have to be informed sooner rather than later. He certainly would not want the press attention this would bring him.

Merlin, what a mess.

“Uh, Hermione?” Ginny said, ripping Hermione from her spiraling thoughts.

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“The paper is smoking.”

Hermione looked down. Smoke was indeed rising from the copy of the _Prophet_ she clutched in her hand.

“Whoops,” she said, trying to cool down. As her anger subsided, so did the smoke. “Actually, you don’t want this, right?”

“Go ahead,” Ginny said, with the wave of her hand.

Hermione easily tapped back into that rage that was simmering just below the surface and reignited the paper before tossing it into her kitchen sink, where it quickly became a pile of ash.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my muse, Viridiantly 🥰

“I was not going to be mad at you for not telling me, but is it true?” Ginny asked. Hermione could see her friend throwing not-so-subtle glances at her stomach.

“Yes, it’s true,” Hermione replied. “And I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

“I believe you! I mean, you only just found out, right?” Hermione nodded. “And Neville’s not the father, right?”

“I know you’re just asking to humor me, but no, Neville is not the father. You only just gave him my number.”

“That’s true, but I don’t think Professor Lupin has your number either yet…”

“Okay, I get it. I am dumb. I am stupid. I deserved this.” Hermione collapsed into one of the chairs around her kitchen table.

“No, that’s not what I was saying! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be joking. Look, I came over because I want to help.”

“Help with what?” Hermione’s tears were falling fast now and she was sure there was a disgusting amount of mucous coming from her nose.

Ginny brought her a tissue and put an arm around her. “Everything! Whatever you need. I will be the best aunt to your little werewolf baby.” Hermione groaned. “Sorry, sorry! That was the last joke; I swear.”

“No, it’s not that. I just... how am I supposed to tell Lupin now?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that right now. Maybe he’s like you; maybe he doesn’t even read the _Prophet_.”

A knock sounded on Hermione’s door then. It was possible that it was from Hermione’s landlord or one of her neighbors, but the uneasy look Hermione and Ginny shared, made Hermione think they had a suspicion who it was.

“Speak of the devil,” Ginny said.

Hermione gave her friend a withering look. She might be mad at him, but he was not the devil. Not yet, at least. 

Bracing for the worst, she walked to the door. She did not even check the peephole before opening it.

“Professor Lupin,” she said, ushering him inside. “What a pleasant surprise.” He flared his nostrils, but said nothing. 

She shut the door behind him. “What? No ‘we have to stop meeting like this today?’” she said, going for humor to lighten the mood. It did not work.

“Forgive me for being a little frazzled. I’ve had quite the morning. I had to drop Teddy off at his grandmother’s. I barely had enough time to explain to Andromeda what was happening.” Lupin sighed. “A little warning would have been nice.”

Hermione was just about to offer him some tea, but his comment had rankled her. “I would have also appreciated a warning,” she said. “But unfortunately I received none.”

Lupin rubbed his temples. “Would you tell Miss Weasley that I know she’s there and that I would like to speak to the mother of my child in private?”

Hermione had not even realized that Ginny had resumed her position under the Invisibility Cloak, but then she reappeared before Hermione’s eyes.

“Whatever you say Hermione, you can say to me,” Ginny said, crossing her arms..

“Hold on,” Hermione said. “We can be adults about this. You,” she said, turning to Lupin, “I never said anything about the baby being yours.”

“You didn’t have to. Just like you didn’t need to tell me that Miss Weasley was here. I have an usually strong sense of smell thanks to… my condition.”

Hermione tried not to be too weirded out by this fact. She might not be pleased with him at the moment but she did not need to shame him for something he had no control over.

“Then if you could tell by smell, why didn’t _you_ warn _me_? You know, when I was barfing my brains out? Instead of telling me it was food poisoning.”

“You smelled only faintly of it then. I thought it was maybe your perfume messing with my senses. But I’ll be honest, the wobbly landing you had after Apparating and vomiting should have tipped me off more. Nymphadora was the same way she was pregnant with Teddy. Your equilibrium is all out of sorts.”

_Wonderful_ , she thought. Now she was being compared to his dead wife.

“Of course, I also did not think you would lie to me about being on the potion.”

“Pardon me? What did you just say? That I _lied to you_? I did no such thing. I can go get it, if you want to see?”

“So, maybe you didn’t lie. Then how did this happen?”

“It’s not one-hundred percent effective! There’s always a chance.” Hermione did not want to add that she was not taking it at exactly the same time every day, which also lowered its efficacy.

“I would like to remind you two that I am also here and I do not want to hear all of this stuff. And, maybe, instead of fighting, we can start problem-solving. Professor Lupin, did anyone see you come in?”

“Of course not. I Apparated directly here.”

“Really? And how did you know how to get here?”

Lupin looked sheepish. “Harry might have told me.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Ginny said. “I did not think when I asked to borrow his dad’s cloak, I would also have to specify not to tell people where Hermione lives.”

_That’s also wonderful,_ Hermione thought. Now Harry knew she slept with Lupin at Ron’s wedding. Hermione hoped that Ron would not also find out. Her friends would never forgive her for sleeping with their former teacher.

“It’s not the end of the world, Ginny,” Hermione said. “At least we know now. And what do I always say?”

“‘Knowledge is power,’” Ginny grumbled.

“I think you had the right idea,” Hermione began. “We should focus on damage control. I will, with the help of the Ministry PR team, release a carefully constructed statement telling them it’s all a big misunderstanding.”

“So, you’re going to lie? You do know you’re going to have a kid. Good luck hiding a whole child,” Ginny said.

“I was already planning on hiding the pregnancy and the child before all of this came to light,” Hermione said defensively.

“For how long? Forever?” Ginny asked. “Hermione, someone is bound to find out.”

“No, only until they’re old enough to go to Hogwarts.”

“Oh, well, that’s reassuring. _Only eleven years_ ,” Ginny said with a snort.

“Harry was hidden for eleven years!” Well, technically only ten, but Hermione was not going to get technical in this conversation.

“Yes, and look how he turned out! I say we ignore it,” Ginny said. “As time progresses, we can figure it out and go from there. But I still don't know how your eleven-year-plan will play out.”

“I agree with Miss Weasley,” Lupin chimed in.

“Ignore it?” Hermione asked, pointedly ignoring Lupin.

“Yes. Do not even debase yourself to answer it. Because of course it’s ridiculous, entirely speculation on their part! Why would you, Hermione Jean Granger, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, be pregnant?”

Harsh, but fair. But that also made Hermione wonder if she was somehow not herself by getting herself in this situation? But, then again, how could she be anything but herself?

“I don’t know. Won’t Neville want this cleared up? It’s a shame that his name is getting dragged through the mud as well,” Hermione said.

“Are you kidding? This is probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to Neville. To be romantically linked with you? Do you know how many men would die for that opportunity?” Ginny looked directly at Lupin. “If he had trouble getting laid before, he’s not going to any longer.”

“Ginny!”

“You know it’s true.”

“I can speak to Mr. Longbottom on your behalf, Hermione,” Lupin offered.

“No!” Hermione said, much too brusquely. “No,” she said, softer this time. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Why not? We will be coworkers soon enough.”

“Hermione’s right. The fewer people who know, the better. At least, as I said before, the time being. And if _you_ talk to Neville, Professor Lupin, he’s going to figure it out.”

“So, who knows? Present company excluded?” Hermione asked.

“Cho,” Ginny said.

“Harry,” Lupin added.

“Good. I think we can keep it between the five of us.”

“Forever?” Lupin asked. “I can’t tell anyone else, forever?”

“I was not aware you wanted people to know,” Hermione snapped.

“I know we did not exactly end on the best foot, Hermione, but you and I clearly need to have a private conversation.” Lupin looked at Ginny.

“And you can have that private conversation when I leave, which will be soon,” she retorted.

_No_ , Hermione thought. If Ginny left Hermione alone with Lupin, she did not trust herself.

“Who do you want to tell?”

“I think it’s fair that Andromeda knows she is having another grandchild.”

Hermione’s stomach did a tiny somersault. Of course he would want to include his family. Hermione did not want to tell her own family—did not even know how she would broach this topic—which was probably why she had not thought of it.

“Of course you can tell... Mrs. Tonks.” Hermione did not know how to address the father of her child’s dead wife’s mother, but formality seemed to be the way to go. Lupin, apparently mollified, nodded.

“Alright,” Ginny said, clapping her hands together. “Glad we’ve got this settled. Our M.O. going forward is to feign ignorance. Correct?”

“Correct,” they both said. Hermione was looking at Lupin, but Lupin was looking at the ground, his hands in his pocket.

“Cool. Well, I am going to leave you two to… do whatever. You,” she said to Lupin, “don’t hurt my friend.” Lupin put his hands up, as if in surrender. “Good, glad we agree.”

Ginny donned the cloak before closing the door behind her.

“So, where do we go from here?” Lupin asked.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks again to my beta, [Viridiantly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridiantly) 🥰🥰🥰

“What do you mean? Visitation rights and child support payments?” She knew it was a low-blow but she was still smarting from his comment about lying about contraception. But Hermione regretted saying that almost immediately as she watched Lupin’s face crumple.

“If that’s what you want…” he said

“I thought that’s what you wanted!” she said. _How had she become the bad guy?_ “The last thing you told me was that you did not want a relationship.”

“Well, that was before.”

“Before what? Before I was pregnant with your child? Because I really don’t think adding a child to the equation makes the current obstacles go away.”

“I just—did you want a relationship with me?”

“What?”

“Did _you_ want a relationship with _me_ , Hermione?”

“I was amenable to the idea.”

“Oh, you were _amenable_? Well, that changes everything.”

“What do you want me to say? We had sex _once_.”

“During which you did not even call me by my name!”

Hermione was confused. She did not recall calling him by anything but Lupin.

_Oh_ , she thought. That _was the problem_.

“You’ve only been Hermione to me. But you won’t even afford me the closeness to call me Remus.”

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I will do better in the future, Remus,” she said, with a smile.

“And I’m sorry about telling Harry. After all, Miss Weasley and Miss Chang knew. I assumed he knew too which is why he gave out your address so readily.”

Hermione bit her lip. “No, Harry didn’t know.”

“Is that a bad thing? You’re close, are you not?”

“Not really. Not anymore. And if he was mad about Cho and Ginny dating after all of these years, I’m not so sure he’s going to like that we… _you know_.”

“It’s none of his business.”

“Trust me. I know. But does Harry? He takes everything so damn personally.”

“Ah. I’m guessing that has something to do with why you are no longer close.”

“You guessed correctly,” Hermione said with a sigh.

“I know you don’t think I should talk to Mr. Longbottom, but I can talk to Harry for you.”

Hermione looked up at Lupin— _Remus_ —really looked at him. His sandy blonde hair, now flecked with gray. His olive green eyes, normally crinkled with mirth, were now worried for her. She had a sudden urge to reach out and touch him and tell him that everything was going to be alright, but that was not the kind of relationship they shared.

“As much as I think he would respect what you had to say, if he can’t accept it from me, that’s his problem.”

Remus nodded. “You’re right. That’s fair. So… do you want to have dinner sometime?” They had just been fighting and now he was about to invite her to dinner? But then he clarified, “To get to know each other better. And get this sorted.”

Hermione laughed self-consciously. They were doing all of this relationship stuff out of order. “I hope you don’t mean to go out somewhere. That apparently only ends badly for me.”

Remus chuckled. “Yes, we can have it at my house.”

“Will Teddy be there?”

“Is that a problem?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“It won’t be confusing for him?”

“Don’t worry. I will just tell him that you are my friend.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. Silly me.” 

_Why would you ever think he would try to explain the whole situation to his five-year-old, Hermione?_

“How’s he doing by the way?” Hermione asked. “I know you said he was having… difficulties.”

“Yes, well, he’s not having an easy go of it at the moment. Victoire Weasley told him she’s starting school soon and he’s disappointed that he will not also be going to school. He’s just…”

“Too noticeable?” she offered.

“Unfortunately. I know he is working very hard to not do it, but we can’t keep sending Obliviators to his school. It’s untenable. His classmates wouldn’t remember anything by the end of the year! I think, on some level, he understands this but it is no less heartbreaking for the both of us.

“I reminded him that we would be going to Hogwarts soon but it’s not special for him since he goes every year.”

“You bring him with you?” Hermione had never heard of her teachers having children and had never considered what Remus would have to do to watch his son.

“I am reliant on the kindness of my coworkers; we do the best we can.”

“I suppose that’s why none of the teachers have children, is it?” Hermione said. “Or spouses, for that matter. It really is like being a monk. Well, at least the students are like your own children.” Remus made a face at Hermione. “I didn’t mean it quite like that.”

“So, dinner? Next weekend?” Remus asked, obviously eager to change the subject.

When he had offered to have dinner with her, she did not realize it would be so soon. But it was not as if she had any other plans—besides laying low and reading, of course. “I would be delighted. If that’s not too much trouble,” she said.

“No. No trouble at all. It will be nice to cook for someone who doesn’t hate everything green on principle.”

“Nope! I definitely love green foods!” Hermione said with an awkward laugh. “I have been trying to eat even more green things lately.” She tapped a pregnancy book on her table for emphasis.

“Oh, yes, I should’ve expected you would be trying to learn everything you can.”

“But apparently my thirst for knowledge was my undoing.”

“Yes, well… I’m sure it was worth it in the end.”

“I now know more about the placenta than is probably ever necessary for a non-scientist.” Then Hermione had the sense that he meant his knowledge of the pregnancy. “And I was going to tell you eventually.”

“It’s alright. Our friends at the _Prophet_ just expedited the process.”

Hermione did not want to mention that she was still in a very uncertain phase of the pregnancy, when no one should get their hopes up, but she stayed silent.

“That reminds me. I’ll have to find the baby books Dora had read. I’m sure Muggle books work just as well, but I’m sure you can find some useful tonics and tinctures in there.”

Hermione nodded. The Muggle books told expectant mothers to err on the side of caution for absolutely _everything_ , so she could not imagine what these authors would think of her consuming boomslang skin or eye of newt.

“Oh, do you mind if I come and get you? I know you know where I live already.” Remus laughed uncomfortably at that. “But Side-Along might be more comfortable for you currently.”

“Right. Of course.”

“We don’t know how you were tracked either.”

“I had not thought of that.” Hermione probably should have been embarrassed for not realizing that herself, but she supposed she was still reeling from the fact that they had considered pursuing her at all. “We would hate for them to connect the dots.”

On some level, Hermione had known she had only said that because she wanted Remus to refute it, that he would gladly claim the baby as his own, that he would announce it to the world. But Hermione also knew that his status as a werewolf meant he was seen as lesser. He was probably worried how that would reflect on Hermione. At least, she wanted to believe that.

“See you then,” he said, giving her a small wave goodbye.

“See you then,” she responded, returning the gesture.

Remus disappeared with a pop. Hermione stared at the place he had once been.

It was then that Crookshanks decided to make his appearance, running up to rub along Hermione’s legs.

“And just where were you?” she asked, scooping him into her arms. “It would have nice to have someone on my side.”

Crookshanks batted her on the nose, which Hermione interpreted as a demand to be let down. She did as she was asked, brushing any stray ginger hairs from her top. Instead of stalking away angrily, as she would have otherwise expected, Crookshanks continued to stare at her from his spot on the ground. Hermione was still unsure if her half-Kneazle understood human speech, but his glare combined with the hit on her nose made it feel like he was trying to tell her that she was being foolish.

“No, you’re right. Ginny is on my side. And Remus seems to be.”

_At least for now_ , she thought.

The rest of Hermione’s weekend dragged on but was also over in the blink of an eye. Her parents had called on Sunday and she had thanked her mother for the advice about taking a week off. They had been glad that Hermione was taking the steps to take better care of herself. Hermione had wanted to tell them why her break had been necessary in the first place, but she was still so terrified of their response.

Honestly, she did not even know how to start that conversation. 

“Mum, dad, I know you know I’m very much single, but, surprise!—I’m pregnant. Aren’t you so excited to be grandparents? Your friends are going to be so jealous. Oh, who’s the father? Well, funny you should ask…”

Deep down Hermione knew they would help her—baby-sitting or otherwise—but she did not know if she could not bear their inevitable disappointment. 

Sunday night she could hardly sleep; Hermione was so nervous about how her coworkers were going to treat her now that they knew. She agreed with Ginny that she should not acknowledge the rumors, but if she denied them outright, that would make her look like a liar if she actually decided to go public with the pregnancy.

When her alarm went off that Monday morning, she debated whether or not she could just stop going to work then and there. But the recognition that she would not be able to support a child without a job, coupled with Crookshanks jumping on her head, was enough of an impetus to get her out of bed and ready for her day.

To her coworkers’ credit, however, no one said anything to her—at least to her face—and soon it felt like any other Monday: slow and soul-crushing. But Percy was also noticeably absent that morning, so that could have been the reason for her relative bliss.

So, when Hermione did finally catch sight of Percy, she fought the urge to hide under her desk. Still, she tried to muster all of her Gryffindor courage and greet him as if nothing was amiss. Her body’s interpretation of that directive was apparently to smile and wave. Unfortunately, however, her attempt at normalcy must have come off a little too strong, because Percy looked at Hermione like she had sprouted fangs or something.

Still, to her complete surprise, he said nothing to her and kept walking to wherever he was going. Later in the week, when Percy did finally need to speak to her about their upcoming white paper, he made no mention of the _Prophet_ story or her alleged pregnancy.

With any other person, Hermione might be pleased, but she knew better than to trust Percy. Knowing him, this behavior was even more suspicious than outright questioning. She had a feeling he was planning something, but exactly what remained to be seen.

On Friday she received an owl from Remus confirming their dinner plans. On Saturday Hermione found herself staring at her closet wondering what you wore to dinner with a man you had had sex with once, when that union had accidentally resulted in a child, and that man told you he wanted to “get to know you better.”

What did that even mean, “get to know you better?” Didn’t they know each other already? They had been acquainted for around eight years now and a few of those years they spent fighting the same war. They already knew each other’s pain and trauma, what more was there to know in a person, really?

Unless, of course, he meant “know” in the Biblical sense. Hermione did not know how she felt about that. Her brain told her that was the wrong move at this juncture. They both needed their wits about them to make sure they made all of the correct decisions and sex would only complicate that.

Her body, however, certainly wouldn’t mind. Remus was definitely one of the more skilled lovers she had been with. And then, without warning, Hermione was thinking about him sliding in and out of her, his balls slapping against her body, his hands on her breasts, his hot breath in her ear.

Resigned, Hermione unbuttoned the jeans she had just put on to take care of this rising need. She definitely would not be thinking clearly if she spent the entire meal thinking about the way his tongue had felt inside of her. Hand in her pants, she shuddered deliciously at the memory.

_After this is taken care of_ , she reasoned, _I will be able to pick out something to wear._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta, Viridiantly, again! And also--if it was not very obvious--I have never had a child nor do I remember the last time I interacted with one 😂

In the end, Hermione had never figured out just exactly what to wear to have dinner with Remus, so she went something from her work clothes—a short-sleeved blouse and slacks. Not only did the outfit feel unsexy, it had the added benefit of putting her in the business mindset, so she and Remus could “get things sorted.”

This outfit seemed to have the desired effect because Remus did not give her an appraising once-over like she remembered him doing the last few times they had seen each other. Instead, his thoughts seemed miles away as he wrapped his arm chastely around her waist and they disappeared without another word.

They reappeared in a home that was both familiar and unfamiliar. Hermione figured it must just be a coincidence, but when she walked further inside, she realized that the layout was exactly like that of Chad’s house. She tried to tell herself that this was to be expected in a neighborhood such as this but her stomach still did a guilty sort of flip.

Hermione followed Remus into the dining room where Teddy was sitting with a box of crayons and paper. He was so engrossed in his work that he hardly noticed their entrance. Hermione had not even considered that Remus would have to leave Teddy—however briefly—to get her, but maybe that was why he had chosen not to mince words, to return to his son as soon as possible.

“Teddy,” Remus said, walking over to him, “it’s dinner time, time to stop coloring.” Teddy protested, but Remus sweetened the deal by promising him that Hermione would help him color after their meal.

Hermione wanted to tell Remus that she did not have any talent for illustration when Teddy finally acknowledged her presence. He stared at her, open-mouthed, and Hermione watched as his sandy-brown hair turned darker and curly, and his green eyes became brown. At first Hermione had no idea what he was doing, until she realized that he was changing to look like her.

“Teddy, what did I tell you about copying other people’s appearances without their permission?”

“Don’t do it,” Teddy said in a small voice. He was not looking at Hermione but at his paper, shamefaced.

“Apologize to Hermione,” Remus said in what Hermione assumed was his “dad voice.”

“I am sorry, Herminey,” Teddy said, not quite pronouncing her name correctly.

“Now change back and put your crayons away.”

Teddy squeezed his eyes shut and scrunched his nose, a process that looked to Hermione like it required a lot of mental energy, before his hair turned back to normal. And when he reopened his eyes to follow the rest of his father’s instructions, Hermione could see they were back to green.

“Sorry again,” Remus said, as an aside.

“I don’t mind at all. It’s—” She wanted to say “cute,” but she stopped herself. She knew Remus and Teddy had been trying their hardest to get his abilities under control and Remus would probably not appreciate the sentiment. “I understand,” she amended.

But Remus was busying himself with the serving dishes already on the table. He waved his wand, presumably removing a stasis charm, before pulling out a chair and offering it to Hermione.

By the time Teddy had returned from cleaning up his stuff, Remus had already served Hermione, Teddy, and himself. Teddy pulled out his chair and climbed onto his booster seat. When he noticed the broccoli on his plate, he made a face and a disgusted noise. Remus had not been kidding when he said Teddy hated all green foods.

Remus said nothing as he cut Teddy’s meat into smaller, more manageable chunks. Hermione supposed she ought to start eating herself but she found herself absorbed in the domestic scene unfolding before her. This was a side of Remus she had never seen before and she could not help but wonder if this was how he would treat their child.

When he had finished cutting, Remus looked up at Hermione expectantly, but when he noticed that her food was untouched, his face turned serious. “Are you feeling nauseous?” he asked, his concern evident.

In truth, Hermione had felt a little woozy even with Side-Along, but that feeling had long since evaporated. “A little,” she lied, not wanting to explain the real reason she had not started eating.

Remus rubbed his beard. “Do you want me to make you a tonic? I looked up the recipe again earlier today.”

“Oh no,” she said, now regretting her lie. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine; don’t worry.”

He nodded, but the dejected look he gave her was like a punch to the gut, so she began tucking into her meal in earnest. It was good, better than she could do—though that was not hard, Hermione was rubbish at cooking—and she made several comments about how much she enjoyed the broccoli for Teddy’s sake.

“Daddy,” Teddy said, as the meal came to its natural close, “am I done?”

“I don’t know. How many broccoli did you eat?”

“Ooone,” he replied, stretching out the word. Based on the amount of broccoli still on his plate and the unsure way he said the word, Hermione assumed this was a lie.

But Remus took this in stride. “You can be done if you eat ten more.”

“Three,” Teddy countered.

“Seven,” Remus replied.

“Five,” Teddy said.

“Deal,” Remus said. Hermione was not even aware children had the ability to count at Teddy’s age, let alone understand negotiating. Then again, it had been a long time since Hermione was herself that age.

Plugging his nose, Teddy lifted a broccoli floret to his mouth. He repeated this four more times and every time he did, he made the same, disgusted face. But when he had finished, he put his fork down in triumph.

“Done!” he said, clearly proud of himself. “Now can I draw with Herminey?”

Remus looked to Hermione and then down to her plate, which was empty. “She finished her broccoli, so, yes, you may.”

Teddy hopped off his chair to go get his crayons and paper from the other room, while Hermione thought of how to get out of this. Remus was not looking at her, instead eating the remaining florets from Teddy’s plate. Then he stood up and began collecting the dishes.

Hermione shot up from her chair and grabbed her own plate. “Let me help,” she said, recognizing her out.

“Nonsense,” Remus said with a grin. “You are a guest. Plus, you promised to draw with Teddy.”

Hermione wanted to say that _she_ promised no such thing but she also did not want to disappoint Teddy after he had been so good about eating his vegetables. It was also not as if she would actually have to draw something. Wasn’t drawing with kids just about admiring their work? She could do that.

“What are you going to draw?” she asked, when Teddy had returned.

Teddy put his little finger to his chin in a move she had also seen Remus do. “I want you to draw.”

“You want me to draw?” Hermione asked. “I thought we were doing this for you, not so you could watch me.”

“I want you to draw and I’ll color,” he said, as if it should be obvious.

“Oh, I see,” Hermione said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. But he was looking at her so excitedly, that she could not bear to turn him down. “Do you have any requests?”

Finger back on his chin, Teddy said, “A unicorn.”

“A unicorn?” Hermione repeated. Did this child want to torture her? Didn’t he know how hard horses were to draw?

“Yes!” Teddy said, kicking his legs.

“One unicorn coming up,” she said, still staring at the blank paper, blank crayon hovering just above it. “You know what? I think I need a pen. Can you get me a pen?” Maybe she would have more precision with a pen. This way it might end up looking less like a blob.

“Okay, where were we?” she asked, when Teddy returned, ballpoint pen in hand. She had hoped this would also give her more time to think. Unfortunately, however, Hermione still did not gain the ability to draw a unicorn in the seconds Teddy had been gone.

“We weren’t anywhere. You didn’t start yet!” Hermione wanted to laugh. He certainly was not a shy child.

“If you want things to be good, you have to be patient.” Teddy crossed his arms. He apparently did not like hearing that. 

Teddy sighed audibly. “So, are you going to start or not?”

“Alright, alright,” Hermione said. Normally she knew she shouldn’t let a five-year-old boss her around, but he was just so cute. A recipe for disaster, she was sure.

She put pen to paper, but still hesitated. The first stroke was probably really important, wasn’t it? She didn’t know; she was no artist.

Where was the best place to start? She figured a good place might be at the ears, so she started by drawing two upside-down V’s and connecting them by an arch. Then she drew a longer arch to connect them on the other side, becoming the muzzle of the horse. She added some lines between the ears to make its mane, as well as two circles for the eyes and another arch at the bottom to be the nose.

She looked up from her art to see that Teddy was still watching her draw intently. He did not have any criticism for her yet, so she continued, less self-conscious.

Two straight lines from the head became the neck, to which the rest of the mane was promptly added. The body was a big oval. Then she drew four rectangles, which were the legs, and a square in each rectangle to be the hoof. Finally, she added some lines from the horse’s rear to make the tail.

Hermione slid the piece of paper across the table. “Is my client satisfied?” she asked.

“No,” Teddy said, resolutely.

Hermione was taken aback. She knew she could not draw but this was a little harsh, especially coming from a five-year-old. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I asked for a unicorn. This is a horse.”

“My mistake,” Hermione said. “You are absolutely correct. Can I have it back?”

She took the paper back and drew another V between its ears, above the lines of its mane. Then she drew some lines around the horn to give it a kind of swirling pattern. Though she supposed that also made it kind of look like a carrot.

“How about now?” she asked.

Teddy grinned, nodding vigorously. He began pulling out all sorts of crayons from the crayon bin to begin coloring. Hermione had never seen a violet-green unicorn before, but who was she to tell him? They would have to ask Hagrid if such a thing existed.

“What’s going on in here?” Remus asked, coming into the room. “It sounds very exciting.” Hermione was soon intimately aware of his presence as he leaned on her chair to get a better look at her work.

“Teddy asked me to draw for him,” Hermione said, gesturing to her unicorn.

“What is that?” Remus asked.

“A unicorn,” Hermione and Teddy said at the same time.

“If you say so…” Remus said.

“Yes, I say so. Teddy says so too. Isn’t that right?”

But Teddy was too engrossed in his drawing to say much of anything.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. You know how life goes 🥰🥰🥰

After Teddy had finished coloring Hermione’s “unicorn,” Remus told Teddy to tell Hermione “goodnight” before going upstairs to put on his pajamas and brush his teeth. Then, and only then, would Teddy get a bedtime story.

When Teddy had left the room and Hermione could hear the pitter-patter of his little feet going up the stairs, Remus turned to Hermione, “We can talk more when he’s asleep. Until then, make yourself comfortable.”

Remus showed her the living room, before following Teddy upstairs. As with many magical families, Remus did not have a television, but made up for this fact with glorious floor-to-ceiling bookshelves which Hermione immediately flocked to.

After scanning their spines, Hermione was pulling a particularly interesting title from the shelf, when she happened to look to the left. In a frame, she saw a photograph of Tonks and Remus. Based on their state of dress, it was probably from their wedding day. She froze, suddenly nauseous, fairly confident that it was not due to her pregnancy.

“You did a great job with Teddy tonight. You’re a natural,” Remus said as he came back into the room.

But that was exactly the wrong thing he could have said. Hermione had always liked Tonks. She had been bubbly, fun, and a joy to be around. Hermione could not replace Tonks. She could _never_ replace Tonks. Not for Teddy and not for Remus.

They had been a family, a _real_ family. What was Hermione, an interloper, doing here?

Hermione felt herself stiffen and the tears beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes. But she swallowed the lump in her throat and forbade herself from crying. She was there to discuss her and her baby’s future and she could not devolve into a blubbering mess, as much as she might want to.

“Hermione?” he asked. “What’s wrong?” 

Even though she was not openly weeping, Remus must have been able to tell something was bothering her based on her silence and the way she was holding herself.

But despite all of this, Hermione could still not bring herself to turn around and reassure him that everything was fine. So Remus took it upon himself to close the gap. She, ironically, could smell him as he approached her. He smelled so good—masculine and clean. Why did he have to smell so damn good?

He placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, which she startled at. Hermione groaned inwardly. That would not help her case when she would inevitably try to argue that nothing was wrong.

Still, she turned, a fake smile threatening to crack her façade. “Sorry, just admiring your book collection.”

But the look Remus gave her told her that he could see right through her. “Hermione—”

“No, it’s fine,” she responded, fighting the urge to wipe her eyes.

“We can talk about her if you want. I don’t mind.” It was not lost on Hermione the way his voice lingered on the object pronoun, _her_.

“What is there to talk about, really?” Her traitorous voice cracked. “It’s not like I didn’t know already.”

“Well, if that’s what you want, then I will respect your wishes.” He sounded a tad dejected, but to Hermione it was an immense relief. She did not want to talk about _her_. Anything but that. 

“Why don’t you sit down?” Remus offered, gesturing to the wingback chair closest to the bookcase.

Hermione did as she was bidden while Remus took its twin, only a small end table to separate them. She was staring at her hands in her lap, suddenly feeling very foolish. Once again she was asking herself why she had ever thought this would work.

“So…” Remus said.

“So…” Hermione echoed.

“We have a lot to discuss, don’t we?” he began. Hermione smiled a half-smile and nodded. Her usual eloquence was failing her in that moment. “I’m assuming you would like to know how involved I’ll be?” Another nod from Hermione. “Well, I think that’s entirely up to you.”

Hermione looked up at the man sitting across from her. She could sense his openness and his warmth, but there was also concern written across his features. Did he not think she could handle this? Did he, like herself, also think she was a fool?

“I can be as present or as behind the scenes as you would like,” he elaborated. “Obviously I have experience raising a child as a single parent, so I can offer advice, but if you would find that overbearing, I am happy to take a step back.”

Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip and stared off into space. He was right about having experience. Then again, their experiences at single parenthood would be a little bit different. Whereas everyone would laud him just by virtue of being a single father, judgment was sure to follow every decision she made.

“I don’t…” she began, when she realized she had been in silent contemplation for far too long. “I don’t know. I think it will depend a lot on our relationship going forward.”

There, she had said it. As much as she had been dreading it, she knew they were both thinking it. If they remained on good terms, she could imagine that they could have a relationship, where she did most of the parenting, but he would still see their child often. But if they did not… Well, a lot could change in the coming months.

“Our relationship?” Remus asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said. She wished there was a way to describe what she wanted to say without necessarily implying romantic feelings. A relationship between two people could encompass all sorts of things: a friendship, a partnership, a—

She was interrupted by her thoughts by pressure on her leg. Hermione looked down to see that his knee was pressed against hers, ever so gently. So gently, in fact, that Remus might not have noticed it himself. But Hermione could not help but notice. And think about it. And remember the night they had spent together, the pressure of his hands on his hips—Merlin, she had to stop now.

“For example, I don’t know how involved you'll be if we hate each other’s guts,” she said, trying to break the tension that probably only she felt.

Remus laughed. “I don’t think we’ll end up hating each other.”

Stranger things have happened, she wanted to say. After all, she and Ron had been so certain that they would be together forever, yet look where they were now. He was married to someone else and she had fucked their former teacher during the reception. And there Hermione went again, thinking about it.

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you won’t want me to be around so much when you find ‘the one.’”

Remus’s eyebrows knitted together. “Hermione, we’re not going to hate each other.”

“How do you know though?” she said, laughing darkly.

“I like you, Hermione; I do. I really want this to work.”

There was a new pressure on Hermione’s leg but it was not an errant brush from his knee. Remus had placed his—rather large—hand on her thigh. Her pulse quickened. He must not have known what it was doing to her or else he would not be doing it. She had gone from crying about Tonks to horny in how many minutes? God help her.

“I like you too,” she said, though it made her feel like a primary school student.

“Then you can trust me. Tell me exactly what you’re thinking.”

Exactly what she was thinking? Yikes. How to explain to him that she was not in fact thinking about their child’s future but instead about how much she wanted to feel him inside her again?

She looked into his eyes—a mistake—his gaze penetrating. Remus wasn’t skilled in Legilimency, was he? And was she imagining things or was he closer to her than he was before?

Drawn by some unseen force, Hermione felt herself lean in closer, mirroring his movements. For a moment they were a hair’s breadth apart, his breath hot on her face. Then they were kissing. The thing she had told herself she would not do and there she was, doing it.

Remus lifted his hand from her knee to lace his fingers through her hair, Hermione’s own hands going to his chest. It was a glorious feeling to feel him, warm and solid, under her touch. They were both there, in that moment, and Hermione, however foolishly, was going to enjoy it. It was only a kiss, right?

Remus moved his lips to her neck.

Scratch that. It was not just a kiss.

“You smell so good,” he whispered into her ear.

That was a relief, she thought. She had been worried that she had dinner-breath, but if he thought she smelled good, she would gladly accept the compliment.

“Uh-huh,” was all her brain could come up with.

“I could smell you as soon as I arrived at your flat.”

Hermione did not recall doing anything special with perfume—just soap and shampoo—but maybe it was because he had an enhanced sense of smell.

“Your arousal,” he added.

Oh, well, that explained it.

“Yes?” she said, still finding it hard to think when his lips were on her neck.

“Yes,” he said, before playfully nipping her.

Hermione yelped.

“Do you want to continue this elsewhere?” Remus asked.

Hermione moaned in response.

Large arms wrapped around her and lifted her from her seat. Remus was strong enough to carry her—Hermione knew this from before—but she still instinctively wrapped her legs around him. He moved his hands from her back to support her bottom.

But as he moved them from the living room and towards the stairs, Hermione had a moment of clarity. “What if Teddy hears us?”

Remus chuckled, his breath hot in her ear. “He’s out like a light. But even if he weren’t, I may have put a sound-dampening spell around his room.”

“Hm, almost as if you were anticipating this,” Hermione said.

“Do you blame me?” he asked.

Hermione, in fact, could not blame him. She certainly could not blame him when she found herself on his bed and he continued nibbling on her neck while unbuttoning her blouse. Nor could she blame him when he pulled off her trousers, trailing kisses and gentle bites along the inside of her thighs.

After some teasing, Remus’s tongue found its mark. Hermione curled her toes and tried not to moan too loudly as he lavished attention on her clit, despite her confidence that Teddy would not hear them. 

Is this what parents had to deal with regularly? But she did not have the mental bandwidth to dwell on that much longer as soon as Remus added one, and then two fingers into the mix.

“Remus,” she keened. He stopped, raising his head to look her straight in the eyes. “Don’t stop!”

His grin was positively devilish. “That’s what I thought,” he said, before returning to his task. Hermione could hardly bear it.

Twice he sent her careening over the edge, before she found herself placed on all fours once more. Not that she was in a position—literally or figuratively—to complain, with his hands on her breasts and his gentle biting on her neck. She had not known this about herself before, but it seemed that was her weak spot. As long as Remus was paying attention to her there, she would probably let him do whatever he wanted to her.

“Hermione,” he said, panting into her ear. 

“Hm?” she said, desperately trying to hold her thoughts together and keep up with Remus’s rhythm. There was a hunger to his thrusts, a pressing need that Hermione did not fully understand.

“You’re mine.”

“Yes, Remus.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, biting her more roughly as he came inside of her. 

He pulled out and they collapsed in a sweaty heap. She could hear Remus catching his breath beside her before he got up and offered her a towel to clean up with. Evanesco worked in a pinch but Hermione appreciated the gesture.

To her surprise, Remus got back into bed and cuddled up beside her. She did not know why this surprised her so much, but cuddling felt somehow more intimate than sex and she did not know when they had reached that point.

“Remus,” Hermione said, when he had nestled his head into the crook of her neck, “if you keep doing that, I’m going to fall asleep here.”

“Hmm.” The nasal consonant vibrated against Hermione’s skin. “And would that be so bad?”

“You don’t want Teddy to know, do you?”

Remus seemed to consider this for a time before he said, “I’ll lock the door, that will give you some time to leave in the morning.”

“Remus,” Hermione chided. He kissed her on her temple, his beard poking her in the eye. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Not used to kissing with a beard.”

Hermione laughed despite herself, before schooling her features into her most serious look. “Remus, be sensible.” Though she had to admit it was so pleasantly warm in his arms and it would probably be even nicer under the covers. Remus said nothing and just pulled her closer.

Hermione sighed, but it was a contented one at that. “Good night, Remus.”

“Good night, Hermione.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the help from my beta, Viridiantly, who also drew me fanart, which can be found [here](https://viridiantly.tumblr.com/post/632544793485066240/for-thesnapeofwater-who-is-the-fabulous-writer)! Thank you again 🥰🥰🥰

Hermione awoke with an erection digging into her ass and a framed photo of Tonks staring at her from the bedside table. She did not remember seeing that the previous evening, but, then again, she had been otherwise occupied. But in the light of day, it was unmistakable. Much larger than the other framed photographs Hermione had seen in the living room.

On one hand, Hermione did not fault a widower for keeping mementos of his dead wife around. But, on the other hand, she did not know how he expected his “guests” to feel about it. Photograph Tonks was staring at Hermione, an easy smile playing across her lips. She wouldn’t be smiling if she could see Hermione now—naked, in her bed, her husband’s hand groping her breast, even if she had been dead for more than five years.

As amusing as it might appear to an outsider, Hermione’s feelings toward the situation warred in her mind. Somehow they had gone from him not wanting a relationship to… whatever this was? Despite what he might have said about her having the last word on his involvement as a father, Hermione could not help but feel that Remus was roping her into becoming Teddy’s new mother, a job she was wholly unqualified for.

Now she understood why Remus had left her that morning. It was supremely awkward to ruminate on your feelings for someone while when that someone was also spooning you. Unfortunately for her, however, there was a strong arm wrapped around her middle. Maybe if she moved enough he would wake up. But even after some fierce wiggling, he still had not budged.

“Remus,” Hermione whispered. Nothing. “Remus, wake up,” she hissed, much louder this time.

That finally did the trick. He opened one eye, followed by another. He smiled warmly. “Good morning,” he said, before planting a kiss on her shoulder. Hermione shuddered involuntarily.

 _Stop_ , she told her body. _Don’t_ _start with me_.

“Good morning,” Hermione said, trying to match his cheery tone and not to sound as she felt.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, his shoulder kisses getting dangerously close to her neck.

“Great.” She squirmed away. Hermione tried to be subtle about it, but it was probably obvious what she was doing.

Remus sat up, the duvet falling away to reveal his scarred chest. Hermione tried not to stare, but there were so many. It saddened her to see this indication of a lifetime of pain written so plainly across his skin and it angered her that this was all the result of one man’s cruel actions.

She had not realized the extent to which he was scarred but both times she had seen him naked, the lighting had not been good. Not to mention the fact that he seemed to prefer having sex with her on all-fours. Something she would like to bring up in the future—if they continued on this ill-advised risk—but definitely not at that moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Hermione tried to look away but was almost certain her discomfort was written all across her face. She always had been a terrible liar.

“I’m nauseous,” she said.

That got Remus moving. He hopped off the bed and pulled on his underwear, followed by his trousers, before turning around to face her. As shallow as it sounded, Hermione was a bit disappointed by the eye contact—she had been enjoying the view.

“I can make you that tonic I mentioned before,” he said. “I just have to get a few ingredients from the apothecary.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” Hermione said, getting up to put her own clothes on. “I should get home anyway. Crookshanks is probably wondering where I am.”

“Alright,” Remus said, pushing his hand through his tousled hair, making it stick up even more. “But at least let me write down the recipe for you.”

Hermione’s eyes trailed Remus’s equally scarred back as he walked from the bed to a desk against the opposite wall. She wondered what it would be like to dig her nails into his back as he plowed into her. She really missed that aspect of sex, but wondered if it was maybe too painful, especially so soon after his transformation. Maybe that was why he preferred the position he did. 

When had the last full moon been? Hermione really should start to track that. Remus bent over the desk, another great position for Hermione to admire his bottom—no, she was not going to think about it.

She let her gaze drift over to a calendar hanging on the wall above the desk. There were no markings on the calendar save for one big angry X drawn on a date in marker. Hermione squinted. The X was close to today’s date. And it was the answer to Hermione’s earlier, unasked question.

“Ah, you’ve seen my calendar.”

“Do you get more wolf-y as the day approaches?” Hermione joked, though she didn’t know why. If she was trying to diffuse any awkwardness she was certainly doing a terrible job at it.

Remus’s face fell. “Well, actually…”

Hermione thought that might explain his preference for doggy-style then. Or maybe it was wrong of her to assume and that predilection was unrelated to his condition; he genuinely preferred having sex that way. A dark part of Hermione’s psyche wondered if it was because he did not want to look at her while having sex so he could pretend she was someone else. 

“I might get a bit more animalistic, yes. I tend to act on my more _base_ instincts.”

So, was he implying that their coupling had been purely instinctual? Hermione did not like the sound of that. Then again, last night she also seemed to be possessed by her own sex drive rather than her brain.

“I see,” Hermione said. She was counting the weeks backwards. Two full moons ago would have fallen near the night of the wedding, when they had conceived.

“I really do like you, Hermione. The phase of the moon doesn’t change that,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I hope you know that.”

Hermione was still trying to process this new bit of information when he finished writing the recipe down and handing it to her. She stared at it, but absorbed none of what was written there.

“I do know it,” she said, absentmindedly.

“Can I call you?”

“Hm?”

“Can I call you?” he repeated.

“Oh, yes. Of course,” she said. She herself bent over his desk and scratched her number onto his notepad. “I’m surprised you have a phone, to be honest. You and Neville, both.”

“Oh, so you’re allowed to have a phone, but we’re not?”

“No! I need to have a phone to talk to my parents. But who are you going to talk to?”

“Are you saying I don’t have any friends?”

“Friends with telephones?”

“Well, you, for starters,” he said, beginning to count on his fingers. “And I guess Neville, too.”

“I’m serious,” Hermione said, a smile threatening to curl her lips. It was a little frustrating how much he could change her mood—for better or worse.

“I am a half-blood; you act like I’ve never used a telephone before.” Remus teased.

Hermione’s stomach did the tiniest of somersaults. She had not known his blood-status, had she? She racked her brain but she was pretty confident that information had never existed there. What else did she not know about him?

“And they really are convenient. Especially in emergencies. Of course, once Hogwarts starts again, I won’t be able to use it, but until then…” Remus lifted his mobile phone from his desk to make his point clear.

But all Hermione could think about was how they were going to navigate this when Remus was living full-time in a castle in Scotland. Or how she was supposed to feel about Tonks and Teddy. Not to mention the possibility that this relationship could all be a side effect of his lycanthropy.

“Since my son doesn’t appear to be awake yet, would you like to Sidealong home?”

Remus dropped Hermione off back at her place. As soon as Remus had gone, Crookshanks came out of his hiding spot to give Hermione his sternest look, his tail flicking angrily.

“I know,” she said. “I am disappointed too.”

Disappointment was, perhaps, not the right word. It was certainly a part of it, but not the whole thing. Hermione was _conflicted_ , to say the least. She knew she had made fun of Ron for having the “emotional range of a teaspoon,” but the amount of feelings she was feeling right now probably could fill a water cooler jug. What she would not give for Ron’s emotional depth at that moment.

After feeding Crookshanks and begging for his forgiveness with the help of chin scratches, Hermione wanted to return to bed and try not to think about how she was more than likely mucking up everything, when she noticed the blinking red light on her answering machine.

“Hello, Hermione. It’s your mother. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. I hope everything is okay; you’re not usually away on Sunday mornings. Call me back. Bye.”

Hermione groaned. She would have preferred to not have this conversation with his parents right then, but she had to wonder if it was better to tell them sooner rather than later. If they would be disappointed in her for getting pregnant—single and at her age—she would hate to add anger and hurt on top of that.

She picked up the receiver and redialed her parents to ask them if her standing invitation to have dinner with them on Sundays was still open. And if they thought her request was odd, they gave no indication.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! Sorry for the bit of a hiatus; I got busy with NaNo and the holidays. Fingers crossed I get back to regular posting 🤞 And as always, special thanks to my excellent beta, Viridiantly 🥰

Public transportation would take too long so Hermione Apparated, against her better judgement. She would have liked to have a word with whoever had named it “morning sickness” because it definitely was no longer morning but she had to take a moment after Apparating to make sure she didn’t lose her lunch. She straightened up and took a calming breath before knocking on her parents’ door.

They welcomed her warmly which made Hermione feel a twinge of guilt—maybe she ought to visit them more frequently.

“You look good today, dear. Did you have to work today?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, just what you’re wearing. It’s very...”

Hermione looked down at her clothes. “Er, no. This is just what I picked out to wear today.”

“Well, it’s very nice. _Very_ modest.”

And there it was. That was why Hermione did not visit as often—comments like that.

“Would you like some wine?” her father asked, uncorking a bottle.

Hermione did not know why this felt like a trap—wine was a common enough occurrence at her parents’ dinners—but it did. “No, thank you,” she responded, hoping that would be a sufficient response.

Her father did not press her and poured her some water from a pitcher before helping her mother carry in the serving dishes and taking his seat. Her mother began serving Hermione, despite Hermione being an adult and quite capable of serving herself.

“So what is new with you, dear? Feeling better? Or does work still have you down?”

Hermione finished chewing her piece of roast, set down her fork and knife, and took a sip of water before answering. “I have been... _better_.” Hermione realized that that answer could be interpreted one of two ways and one was certainly more truthful than the other. 

“What do you think the cause of that change has been?”

“As I told you previously,” Hermione said, “taking a week off was certainly beneficial. Some might even call it ‘life-changing.’” She laughed inwardly at her own stupid joke. True, the week of Ron’s wedding might have been more impactful, but that was the weekend she—and _he_ —found out.

“That’s lovely to hear. Any other life-altering changes?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean, if you change one thing, why not change another thing?”

“Er, well… I have started up Russian again.”

“That’s wonderful, Hermione,” her mother said, raising her wine glass to take a sip. “I would’ve thought you would be fluent by now?”

Hermione pretended she had not heard that comment. “And I’ve started my exercise routine again. Lifting weights.”

“Great! Work on that now so when you’re menopausal like me, you won’t have to worry about osteoporosis. Or do witches not get osteoporosis?”

Hermione had to think about that one. She had certainly never heard of her older witch friends talking about osteoporosis, then again she had also not heard them talk about menopause either.

“I’m sure there must be a bone-strengthening solution,” Hermione replied, trying to sound more knowledgeable than she had any right to be. “Dumbledore lived well past a hundred, so he must have done something right.”

“Your medicine must be far more advanced than ours. Though is it ethical to keep all of that knowledge to yourselves?”

“I have often wondered that myself, but I think it’s a purely physiological thing. It certainly isn’t preventative medicine, because I don’t know a single witch or wizard who gets a yearly physical.”

While her parents were not doctors, at least they were not considered such in the collective conscientiousness, they were very health-concerned. Hermione should have known better than to say that.

“Hermione Jean,” her mother exclaimed. “That better not be the case for you. You’re not going to the doctor? Harold—”

“Hm?” her father said, probably miffed that he had been dragged into this conversation.

“Tell your daughter to go to the doctor.”

“Hermione, listen to your mother.”

Hermione wanted to protest that there was no such thing as a magical GP, but she also knew that she would probably want to get an ultrasound sooner rather than later.

“I will, mum. Soon. I promise.” Then she realized this would be the perfect opportunity to tell them her news. “You see, I sort of—”

“Finally,” her mother said. “I was wondering when you were going to tell me.”

Hermione was confused. That was definitely not the response she had anticipated.

“We gave you ample opportunities to tell us. The wine. The asking about changes in your life. I was beginning to get worried you weren’t going to tell me.”

“You already _knew_?” Hermione asked, incredulous. “How did you know? Who told you?”

“Molly, of course.”

“Molly Weasley? How does she know?”

“That wizard paper!”

Hermione rubbed her temples with her index and middle fingers. “How long have you known?”

Her mother and father shared a look. “From the beginning, dear.”

“When were you going to tell me that you knew?”

“When were you going to tell _us?_ ” her mother retorted.

“Mum, I’m like eleven weeks along. That’s only barely when you start telling people.”

“Then why did the paper publish it?”

“They’re an unethical organization with zero journalistic integrity!”

“I thought you had them sorted out when you kept that one woman in a jar.”

“Apparently keeping one reporter in a jar is not enough to reform an entire paper. I know, I am just as surprised as you are.”

“Hermione, do not get short with us. I’m just asking; we’re not a part of your world. There is absolutely no reason to be rude to us.”

“Sorry; you’re right. I don’t even know how they got the information, to be honest. I had only just found out myself.”

“You should really press charges. Or whatever tools witches and wizards have at their disposal.”

Hermione sighed. “That would be the right thing to do, especially since I don’t want them to do that to anyone else. But, to be honest, I’m scared to even acknowledge it. I just want it to go away and I was hoping just ignoring it would work.”

Her parents were silent. She was waiting for them to ask about how she would hide the pregnancy or the baby.

“And you are going to keep it?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, resolutely. “Of that much I am certain.”

“Molly wasn’t sure if it was true since she had not heard it from you so she said not to get our hopes up too much about becoming grandparents, but it really is happening?”

 _Barring any tragedies_ , Hermione thought. “Yes,” she said.

“You know, when Molly first called me and told me my daughter might be pregnant, I was worried she was telling me that one of her many offspring was the father.”

“No,” Hermione said. “You know I haven’t talked to them in a long time. Except for Ginny.”

“I know! And it makes me terribly sad. I know you didn’t end things with Ronald on a particularly high note, but those were your best friends, Hermione.”

She and her mother had been over this before. Hermione had tried to explain that it was exceedingly difficult to maintain their relationships, now that they weren't fighting a war together and that they all had their own lives. Of course, her break-up with Ron had certainly not helped in that regard.

“People change. Situations change.”

Her mother nodded. “But that Longbottom boy is the father? Forgive me; I hadn’t realized you were dating.” Hermione inhaled sharply. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s not Neville. The paper made that part up. Which leads me to the tricky bit.” That also reminded Hermione—she still needed to write to Neville and apologize for the whole situation.

“The _tricky_ bit? How is this tricky? Do you not know who he is?” Hermione laughed darkly. “Hermione. Jean. Granger.”

“No, I _do_ know who he is.” There was no reason to tell her parents about the Chad “incident.” She could take that information to her grave.

“So, who is it then? Harry?”

“Mum! It’s not Harry. I know more than three men.”

“Just tell us, dear. We won’t be mad,” her father said. 

“You probably don’t know him. His name is Remus Lupin—”

“Your professor?”

“Yes—Hang on. How did you know that?”

“You act like we didn’t read your letters. You talked about him all of the time. When was that again, Harold?”

“Third year, I believe,” her father said. “Defense Against the Dark Arts”

“That’s right. Now I remember. You were always talking about how wonderful of a teacher he was.”

“Yes, we were used to it though. The year before she kept going on and on about that Lockhart bloke.”

“Oh.” Hermione did not remember being infatuated with Remus as she had been with Lockhart, but maybe she was misremembering.

“It was different. Don’t fret. You had more on your plate that year but you would always point out how much you enjoyed his teaching style.”

“He was good—”

“Suppose it’s not too much of a surprise. You always had a thing for intelligent, capable people,” her mother said. Yet, that did not explain Ron or Lockhart. “Are you going to get married soon then? I’ll admit I was getting used to the idea of you not getting married at all—”

“Mum, we’re not going to get married.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not even dating!”

“Why _not_? Is he already married? Hermione, tell me you didn’t sleep with a married man.”

“No! He’s not married!” Not anymore, at least.

“So, why can’t he do the responsible thing and marry you?”

“It’s the twenty-first century, mum. Getting married isn’t necessarily the ‘responsible thing,’ especially if you’re not compatible.”

“You were compatible enough apparently.”

Hermione wanted to explain that a one-night stand did not mean anything but she also did not want to admit it was a one—or two—night stand to her parents, considering her mother was probably being purposefully obstinate.

“It’s complicated.”

“Is that what he told you? The reason he won’t marry you?”

“Marriage hasn’t even been considered! And, no, that’s not what he told me. I came to that conclusion on my own.”

“What could be so complicated? Except for the age difference, of course.”

“For starters, he’s a widower.”

“You’re holding that against him?”

“And he has a young son.”

“Still don’t know how that’s a problem. Sounds like he has experience in being a husband and a father.”

“He’s also a werewolf.” Hermione hated herself for saying that. His lycanthropy might have been the least of their problems. But this admission had the added benefit of getting her parents’ attention. She could hear her dad take a sip of his wine and her mother put down her silverware. 

“Are you being completely serious? _Those_ are real?”

“Yes, he is real. Are you really surprised? Based on everything else I’ve told you?”

“Right, so are you—Is the baby—”

“A werewolf? I am not, no. And the baby, probably not. His other son’s not a werewolf.”

“Probably? So, there’s a chance my grandchild will be a werewolf?”

“There hasn’t been much scholarship done on the subject, but even if they are, you have to love them regardless. If you love your witch daughter, you can love your werewolf grandchild.”

“Hermione…”

“I am serious! I don’t want any weird, underhanded comments, because you know they will pick up on it. Children are more perceptive than you would think.”

Hermione was, of course, referring to her own experience in receiving comments about her oddness. Even before they had learned she was a witch, Hermione could only be described—and charitably, at that—as a weird child. She would hate for her child to suffer the same fate.

“Forgive us our ignorance, dear. It’s just a lot to take in at the moment. I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves. When are we going to meet the father-to-be?”

“Well, about that…”

“Are you embarrassed of us?”

“What? No. How is this about you? This is about _me_ and my issues. I am not embarrassed about you.” Well, that was not entirely true. That was certainly part of it. She did not need them pestering him about marriage.

“So, what is the problem then, dear?”

“Listen,” she said, trying to be even-keeled, “I need to figure out a few things—logistically—beforehand and then we can all meet. Okay?”

Her parents nodded in agreement, but what Hermione had failed to disclose was that Remus would soon be at Hogwarts full-time.

“And no one can know about this,” Hermione added. “Not even Mrs. Weasley. I’m trying to keep this hush-hush.”

“Can I at least confirm with her that I am having a grandchild?”

Hermione’s stomach did a somersault. She did not exactly want Mrs. Weasley knowing this, not the least because the woman had a habit of not keeping secrets to herself.

“I would prefer her not to know but if you must tell her, so be it.”

“Isn’t this wonderful, Hermione? You’re going to be a mother and I’m going to be a grandmother. And to think, I was worried I would never see the day.”

 _Glad you’re happy_ , Hermione thought.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year 🍾🥂🎆 And thanks again to my beta Viridiantly for all of her help!

Hermione had been in the middle of writing a letter to Neville explaining the whole situation—save for Remus’s involvement—when she received a phone call.

Her mind had been on the fact that Neville had yet to be harassed by the press—probably because he was a man—so she did not immediately realize who was talking to her.

“Hello,” she said, cradling the receiver between her ear and her shoulder. 

“Hermione,” he said, his voice rough. Did Remus smoke? “So lovely to hear your voice.”

The comment was generic enough but it still sent a tingle of pleasure down her spine.

“Remus, hi. How are you?” Hermione asked. She had to resist the urge to ask him straight out the gate exactly why he was calling but she needed to remember her manners.

“I am doing much better now that I’m talking to you.”

The cynical part of Hermione could not help but wonder if Remus was buttering her up for something. But what would he possibly be doing that for? Sometimes Hermione really hated that part of herself.

“What about you? How are you?”

“Well, I’m writing Neville—”

“You’re writing him a letter? By owl? I thought we had moved on from that.”

“Very funny. I would agree except I really don’t want to have this conversation verbally; it’s far too uncomfortable.”

“You mean you haven’t told him yet?” Remus asked, apparently filling in the blanks on his own just fine.

“No. And I’m quite ashamed of it. I only remembered when my parents asked.”

“Your parents know?”

Uncomfortable silence. Why did that question make Hermione feel so guilty? “Yes, they do,” Hermione said at last.

“And? How did they take the news? Are they excited?”

“...Yes.”

“I’ll suppose they’ll want to meet me and Teddy. Maybe I can arrange a weekend away from Hogwarts.”

“Yes, just give me a date and a time.”

“Anyway, that’s related to the reason I wanted to call you.”

“Oh?”

“Andromeda, Teddy’s grandmother, wanted to meet with us for lunch so she could get to know you better. You can refuse, of course; she won’t be offended.”

Hermione did not really know Tonks’s mother. Even when she had still been close to Harry, only he would go over to visit Andromeda while she was watching her godson—Hermione had never been included.

“No, of course, I would love to!” Hermione lied.

This was the interaction Hermione was looking forward to the least. She would rather detail the way in which her child was conceived to her parents than meet the mother of Remus’s dead wife. How could she ever measure up in this woman’s eyes? Hermione was fairly certain she had been set up for failure.

“Wonderful! I will tell her immediately. She’s already heard so much about you so I’m sure she’ll love you.”

“Oh,” Hermione said with a forced laugh. “I am so excited as well.”

Hermione tried to not be cowed by the aristocratic-looking woman sitting across from her. Hermione put no stock—obviously—in the idea of blood purity but the way in which Andromeda held herself definitely screamed “old money.”

Remus was puttering around in the kitchen, being a gracious son-in-law, which left Hermione alone with the woman. And Teddy, of course.

“How are you doing, dear?” Andromeda asked, lightly stroking her grandson’s head. He had curls like Hermione once more but no one brought attention to that fact. “Are you feeling… well?”

They had to dance around the subject with Teddy in earshot but he seemed quite unbothered. His father had brought him a coloring book and a pack of crayons and he was going to town.

“I am quite well,” Hermione said. “Thank you for asking.”

“Aren’t you quite lucky then? I remember feeling so nauseated. She was as well, of course.” Hermione did not need to ask who she was.

“Oh, I was,” Hermione said with a self-conscious laugh. “But I am better thanks to the recipe Remus gave me.”

“Oh, that? That was in the Black family for generations.” Hermione was once more reminded whose presence she was in, just whose sister she was sitting across from. “Anyway, Remus tells me your parents are Muggles.” Hermione nodded. She knew Andromeda was progressive but she did not like the trajectory of this conversation.

“And what do they do?”

“They’re dentists. Although they might be retiring soon.”

“How lovely. My Ted’s parents were doctors; I think that’s where he got his gift for healing spells. Anyway, I can’t wait to meet them.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Hermione said. Her parents probably would quite enjoy Andromeda; they appeared to be around the same age. Then again, Remus was also not much younger than Andromeda either. Hermione had a sudden feeling that she was about to be outnumbered.

But Remus came in then bringing them the constituents to make sandwiches, a very low-effort lunch which Hermione could appreciate. She was not big on cooking herself since she was normally so busy.

“What were we talking about?” Remus asked, sitting down. Hermione watched as he appeared to begin to make Teddy a sandwich, but then realized that his mother-in-law was doing the same thing herself.

“Hermione’s parents are dentists.”

“Are they? I did not know that. I hope they do not judge my teeth too harshly.”

“Oh, no, they wouldn’t do that,” Hermione said, despite knowing full well that they had always commented on her teeth before that incident with Draco in her fourth year. But Hermione also had never really paid attention to his teeth either. Then again, she also did not have an opportunity to. It was hard to see teeth that were on your neck.

_Not now_ , Hermione thought to herself. _Please, not now._

“Unfortunately we will be going back to Hogwarts soon but maybe we can set something up on a holiday weekend.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, also knowing full well she had no intention to follow up on that. Perhaps this should have been an indication to her that she should be more concerned about her and Remus’s relationship, but she did not want to dwell on that.

“What’s a dentist?” Teddy asked.

“Dentists are Muggle healers for teeth, dear,” Remus explained.

Teddy seemed to consider this for a moment before asking, “If you don’t feel well, Herminey, why don’t you go to the dentist?”

“You know,” Hermione said, “I had not considered that. Thank you for the suggestion.” She smiled wide at Teddy, which seemed to satisfy him and he returned to his sandwich.

After lunch, Hermione offered to do the dishes, so as to further ingratiate herself with Tonks’ mother. She was doing them alone, assuming that the little family was conversing in the other room, which was why she startled when someone came into the kitchen.

“Sorry for scaring you. I’m just coming in to put the kettle on.”

“No problem at all,” Hermione said, toweling off a plate. “I am particularly jumpy.”

Hermione got out of the way as Andromeda filled up the kettle at the tap.

“You know, my grandson had a good question. Have you been to the dentist, Hermione?”

“I go twice a year—”

“No, the _dentist_.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Hermione finally sussed out the meaning. “No, I have not.”

“I figured as much. It can be hard to navigate the world of magical versus Muggle medicine, especially considering your background…”

“Yes…”

“Please don’t think I’m prejudiced—”

“Oh, no, I never thought that!” _For very long_.

“I only remember my Ted’s confusion.”

“It is a little confusing. My parents did not understand how we don’t have yearly physicals.”

“Hmm. I had not considered it that way.”

“And… the last time I was in St. Mungo’s, I don’t remember seeing a maternity ward.”

“No, you’re correct. Magical folk would never have their children in a hospital. They have midwives for that.”

“Oh. Do they have magical epidurals as well?” Andromeda creased her eyebrows together as if she was working very hard to parse what Hermione had just said. “Muggle painkiller. I’ve been reading a lot about it. They put it directly into your spine and it numbs you from the legs down.”

“How… interesting.” Hermione could tell from the look on Andromeda’s face that she had said too much. Not everyone was as interested in the in’s and out’s of the birthing process, even if they had undergone it themselves.

“To answer your question, no. There’s a potion and spell for that.”

“Wonderful. Magical is truly wonderful in that way.” And yet, Hermione was a little disappointed. She had not anticipated getting an epidural, but she had also been a tad bit curious of what it would feel like, even if she knew deep down, it would still be miserable. After all, she had learned it was not the pain, but the pressure.

“But do witches go to regular appointments with the midwives?”

“No.”

Of course, Hermione thought. Witches and wizards did not seem big on preventative medicine.

“I can give you the name of a couple of midwives, if you would be interested,” Andromeda offered.

“Would you? Thank you. That’s so kind.” Hermione still had not decided what she wanted to do, but she would keep the use of a magical midwife in mind.

“You know,” Andromeda began, “I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The hair on the back of Hermione’s neck stood straight up. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“You’re practically walking on eggshells around me. But don’t worry,” she said with a wink, “I think it’s endearing. And I trust my son-in-law’s judgment and I know he chose a good one.”

The cynical part of Hermione was coming out again and it seriously doubted that. How much did Andromeda know about their relationship? Remus had not “chosen” her; they had “accidented” their way into this situation.

“Plus, he’s been lonely for so long now. It would nice for him to have with him when he goes through the change. Dora would tell me how… _clingy_ he would get as the day got closer and how much better the change was when she was there with him.”

Hermione was about to say that she had yet to experience his change. Well, that was not entirely true. She had experienced his change, just not under the influence of Wolfsbane. But she ultimately decided against it because Remus had clearly told his mother-in-law that the two of them were closer than they actually were. And Hermione was not going to mess that up for him.

“I am glad I can be that person for Remus,” Hermione said, finishing drying her dish.

“And I hope he can be that person for you, too.”

Hermione nodded. “Right. Of course.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update. Been a busy month with work/life/writing. Thank you for your patience and special thanks again to my beta, Viridiantly 🥰🥰🥰

After they had said goodbye to Andromeda, Remus took Hermione’s hand, picked up Teddy, and Apparated them back to his house. Hermione was still thinking about Andromeda’s offer to help and what it all meant for her birth plan. She had considered midwives somewhat already, but they were yet another thing for her to research. Her thoughts were interrupted, however, when she heard her name.

“Hermione, I could take you back now,” Remus said, “or we can go to the park, perhaps? It’s a lovely day out still.”

“Yes. Let’s go to the park, _pleeease_ ,” Teddy said, tugging on Remus’s sleeve.

Hermione’s first instinct was to agree—it was not as if she had anything else to do—but she also had a feeling she knew where this would be going. They would go to the park, then she would stay for dinner, and soon enough she would be waking up in Remus’s bed, full of guilt and shame.

“I would hate to impose,” she said, knowing it was a flimsy excuse. “And I have to do my laundry—”

“Please,” Teddy said, giving Hermione his most pleading look. “You are so much more fun than daddy. I want to play with _yooou_.”

Hermione seriously doubted that. She was about as much fun as a bowl of oatmeal. But she was not about to argue with a five-year-old, especially considering he probably did not have many playmates beside his father. Poor Teddy. He could use a friend his own age.

“Alright,” Hermione said. “I will go to the park with you.” At that, Remus smiled at her, clearly pleased with her response. Suddenly there was a warm, sticky hand on her own and Hermione felt herself being tugged toward the door.

“I want to go down the slide. Do you like the slide, Herminey?” Teddy asked. She could see the determination on his face.

“I think I might be too big for the slide.”

At that, Teddy looked her up and down, evidently assessing her size against his memory of the slide. “Maybe.”

Hermione did not know whether to be insulted or not—she had it herself, after all—but his assessment also made her realize that she was about to change significantly in appearance. She wondered what Teddy would say then. Or would she hide her pregnancy from him as well? It was something she would have to consult Remus on.

She still had not figured out how to do concealment charms safely and for long periods of time, which was just another thing she needed to read up on. Luckily for her, however, there was nothing more she loved than a new research project.

During the whole—admittedly, short—journey to the park, Hermione held hands with Teddy. She tried to imagine how they must have looked to outsiders. Did they look like a family? Or was their dynamic very clearly something else? Like something that even Hermione herself was not one-hundred percent clear on?

Would they look more like a family if she was holding Remus’s hand as well? She definitely did not want to do that. Like morning cuddles, that still felt more intimate than she was ready to be with Remus, especially in public.

And that was the lie she told herself. She could not hold his hand because she was not ready to be seen with him in such a fashion. That did not mean anything though. They would figure it out eventually.

One day.

Hopefully.

Even holding Hermione’s hand, Teddy looked both ways before crossing the street and, as he had promised, he ran for the slide first. The park was strangely empty for a nice summer day. He climbed up the structure while Hermione and Remus looked on, a noticeable distance between the pair of them.

When Teddy reached the top he said, “Herminey, watch me!”

“I’m watching!” she called back to him. Satisfied, he slid down before looking to Hermione for approval. “Great job. Are you going to go again?”

“Yeah!” he exclaimed before running back up the steps.

“He’s going to sleep well tonight,” Hermione said.

“Yes, he will,” Remus said. Hermione looked at him then. He was giving her that look again that she couldn’t quite parse. “He’s rather fond of you, you know?”

Hermione exhaled. “I don’t know why—”

“He’s an excellent judge of character, even at that age.”

“Herminey!” Teddy yelled from the top of the slide. “Watch me!”

“I’m watching!”

“Plus you really are a natural with children,” Remus said, narrowing the gap between them.

“I really wish you wouldn’t say that. Great job, Teddy!” she said that last part louder.

“Why? It’s true.”

“I don’t know… it makes me feel weird.”

“Why does it make you feel weird? Are you not about to have a child of your own?”

“ _Yes_ , I am—”

“ _Herminey!_ ”

“I’m watching, Teddy. You can go.” Hermione shouted, before continuing in her normal voice. “I just… I can’t explain it, Remus. I don’t know. It just sounds odd. Do I have to have an explanation?”

“No, you don’t. But you don’t want to unpack that?”

“Unpack it? Is there something wrong with how I feel about that phrase?”

“No, not necessarily. But something to consider.”

“Great job, Teddy,” Hermione said, pointedly ignoring Remus.

“Herminey,” Teddy said, running over to them. “I’m done with the slide. Push me?”

Hermione did not immediately know what Teddy was referring to when he asked to be pushed, but as she watched him make a beeline for the swings, she understood and joined him there. The good thing about the swings was that Teddy would be too close to them for her and Remus to have a conversation about anything serious.

She did not remember the last time she had pushed someone on a swing. It probably was when she had still been a child herself. But she was pleased to find that it was not as hard as she remembered. Maybe because she was now a full-grown adult and Teddy was small, even for his age.

That was a relief because she definitely would not have wanted Remus to step in for her. As foolish as it was, she wanted to prove she was capable on her own. She had been prepared to use magic should the need have arisen. But what a dumb thing to get in trouble for from the Ministry, even if there were no Muggles around. And then there was the possibility that she put too much oomph into her magic and she sent Teddy flying. That certainly would not have been good.

But Teddy seemed to have already grasped the concept of pumping his legs so eventually Hermione did not have to push him much at all. Remus, for as much as they were disagreeing earlier, looked on smiling.

In that instant Hermione saw a possibility of their future together. She and Remus were not romantically involved but he still brought Teddy over regularly to see his little brother or sister. That could work, right?

Being a single child herself, Hermione could not even begin to imagine what it was like to have a sibling, but maybe this was a good middle ground. Maybe this could be all of the fun of having a playmate without the trauma of feeling like your parents had replaced you. Of course then there was the age difference to consider.

“Too high, Herminey!” Teddy yelled at her, bringing her back to reality.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, grabbing the swing to slow him a little bit. Then she gave an apologetic look to Remus who quirked an eyebrow at her.

When Teddy had been sufficiently tuckered out—as evidenced by Remus carrying him—they returned to the Lupins’, where Hermione once more insisted that she could not stay for dinner and had better get home to finish her weekend chores. So, Remus asked permission before taking her gently into his arms and Disapparating the both of them.

Hermione was prepared for Remus to leave immediately now that she was safely at her apartment but he nevertheless lingered.

“Don’t you have to get back to Teddy?”

“I can’t stay too long, but I do believe he is a bit too tired to make mischief right at the moment. At least, I hope. Besides, I needed to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?”

“Yes, obviously,” he said, grinning broadly. “Who else would I need to talk to?”

Hermione laughed nervously. “Just double-checking.”

Remus closed the distance between them and placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She struggled not to react. It was not that she did not want him to touch her; it was that she liked it a little too much. But flinching would also send the wrong message.

“I am going to miss you, you know that, right?”

“At Hogwarts?” she asked, despite knowing full-well what he had meant.

“Yes. It’s too bad you don’t work there too.”

Hermione stiffened. “I don’t want to work there. I have my own life and career.”

Remus’s smile melted into a worried expression. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said. “I-I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant it would be nice to be able to see you more often.”

The thing was, Hermione had known all along what he had been trying to say. Yet she had been so insistent to misinterpret it in the worst possible way.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off so angry. It’s just… what are we?”

“Whatever we want to be.”

“That’s—I don’t know if that’s enough of an answer. And now we’re going to be apart pretty much constantly. How is that supposed to help us figure it out?”

His face softened and reached up to tuck a curl behind Hermione’s ear. “We’ll still talk. We’ll figure it out.” He rested his hand on her stomach. “For them.”

He left, after placing a chaste kiss on Hermione’s cheek, leaving her alone once more. Everything he said made sense. So, why didn’t she believe him?


End file.
